


Trial and Error

by The Nox-Zi Consortium (TranscientNight), Zikul



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cardassians, Episode: s02e25 Tribunal, F/M, IDIC (Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations), LGBTQ Themes, LGBTQIA Character(s), M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, n-kardasi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-08-20 18:17:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 430,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16560869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TranscientNight/pseuds/The%20Nox-Zi%20Consortium, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zikul/pseuds/Zikul
Summary: After an eventful stay on DS9, Timun, Elem, Glain and the kids arrive on Cardassia Prime, and so begins a new series of ordeal. With Glain demoted to a low-ranking position, Elem trying to fit in a new family, society and gender altogether, and Nall's wish to recognize his halfbreed child despite the risks for his career, the ordeals are many. Trial and Error is the sequel of Ties and Wires, and a full-time immersion in Cardassian society.





	1. I - The Rokat Family

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read Ties and Wires, we suggest you to begin with it to avoid massive spoilers. If you just want to read about Cardassians in Cardassia however (but miss some nice Garak/Bashir action), then please proceed as your reading heart desires. Hereafter is a quick who's who, and sum-up of preceding, relevant events:
> 
> Melekor/Elem Kel, age 27:  
> Half-Cardassian, Melekor Kel grew up as a male, in the Federation, raised by a very questionable Betazoid mother (Ywanna Kel). Against her wishes, he seeked to discover the identity of his father, who turned out to be Conservator Nall Rokat, and still alive. Melekor changed his name to Elem through his late stay on DS9, some time after discovering that he was intersexed.
> 
> Glain Rokat, age 22:  
> Nall's legitimate son, Glain, found about his sibling's existence and set to meet him on DS9 to try and dissuade him to ever come to Cardassia, until instinct kicked in and the two of them started to bond. Glain once was tried for attempting to take his own life as a teen, an opportunity during which Gul Reyal, an enemy of Nall, tried to expose Glain's homosexuality. Although the claim was rebuked, Glain's reputation is still stained.
> 
> Terek (age 12) and Kilem (age 11):  
> Two war orphans to be adopted by Nall Rokat, even if that's a bit of an un-Cardassian decision.
> 
> Timun Lykes, age 34:  
> A Vulcan-Trill doctor who managed, in just one month, to end up in detention a worrying number of times, save Elem's life about as many times, but also earned the half-Cardassian's undying hatred. He's come to realize that Cardassia might not be the best place to do scientific journalism, but promised his wife-to-be (Savras, who is also Melekor's best friend) to see that Melekor would be safely delivered to Prime.
> 
> After a travel troubled by a violent Maquis attack, the little group finally reaches destination.

  
  


# Part I

##    
Debuts on Cardassia

  
  
  


* * *

## The Rokat family

It was a sunny day in Lakat and the landing fields of the Munda’ar Sector bathed in the late morning’s sunlight: gold striped with black where the surrounding warehouses threw their long shadows across the intersections dividing them. The Sector was where the Lissepian freighter had been expected to deliver its cargo, and it was thus where the rescue shuttle was headed.

A work-crew of five men was awaiting the transports, alongside a two-men strong security escort. A short, curvy, plump woman in her early sixties stood by their side, her hair tied into a grey bun at the back of her head – she was clad in a sober beige dress, and held the leash of a rather scruffy looking cat, whose six legs seemed to go everywhere once it’d laid down, bored of waiting, and turning into a bun of fur and old skinny membrane flopping off its wing-like middle legs.

“...and then you take the rekara legs and you soak them in the honey mix overnight, and in the morning, you remove them, let them dry for an hour, sprinkle additional yujee sugar on them, and elevate them in the mixture again, but no longer than ten minutes – you have to let the honey dry before you fry them, and the temperature of your oven must be below fifty, or they’ll burn,” she told the soldier next to her, who was listening very intently – he’d been wishing to learn this recipe for five years already.

“Ah, there they come,” the old woman interrupted herself in a chirp, and pointed at the ships. “A bit unorthodox, this. I wish proper ships still made routes here; I do feel like I’m a shady person, picking up people in the storage sector,” she shuddered. “But there’s nothing unlawful about it, except perhaps that His young Rokat forgot to ask his father’s permission to go at all – ah! There he is, how delightful!” she spotted him in the distance – she had excellent vision, even at her age.

Glain had stepped off of the ship first, and as soon as he and the others were cleared to go, Keelani hurried over to him, waking up the steppe-cat as she hurried forth.

“Glain, sweetheart, do you need help carrying anything?” she asked, looking behind him to see what she presumed was the sibling Nall had mentioned, as well as the two, small children. “No rest for the wicked,” she gesticulated a bit to them, then hugged Glain who almost didn’t let her go.

“I hear you’re staying with me,” she told him, “but your father gave me instructions to take all your friends to the Bureau of Alien Affairs first – and those two are coming with us,” she nodded backwards at the two young soldiers, then winked knowingly. “The one to the left, I think he has the hots for me,” she told in confidence, before moving on to Elem. “And you must be Melekor Kel,” she nodded courtly to him, looking him over. “Well, I’m relieved you look nothing like your mother. I am Keelani Dera’an, Nall Rokat’s housekeeper, and high master of kotra, at least in my street – and who would you two be?” she sat on her heels in front of the kids, and looked them over.

Rather cute, but a handful of trouble, oh she could tell.

“I’m called Terek,” the girl said, “but in fact, it’s my brother’s name, and he’s dead. My real name is Tilayan. And this is Kilem. It’s not his real name either but it’s a very sweet name,” she squeezed his hand a little. “He doesn’t talk a lot except when he’s around doctors.”

“They’ve been through a lot,” Glain excused them, ending up with Keelani’s pet in his arms as the cat climbed up his legs while the androgynous teen girl went on:

“We came from Bajor to DS9 on a runabout and Doctor Bashir found that I’m a girl, and the Trill father of my Vulcan friend Dziana almost died and then was kidnapped, so we had to be with Garak and made bags in his shop, and he was very good at kotra and told us a lot of murder stories, then-”

“-Well, that will be quite enough,” Glain interrupted the fast, neverending flow. Keelani chuckled.

“Murder stories, humm?” she chirped knowingly, then straightened up and shortened the leash of her pet as Glain let it glide back to the ground (where it landed with less grace than it used to have in its younger days). “If you like murder stories, you’ll like Constable,” she pointed to the cat, “he’s the arch-nemesis of the local voles, and _almost_ as good a hunter as _I_ once was a sniper,” she winked and then sneezed a little- “The sun,” she pointed out, muffling another sneeze, “I’m a little bit sensitive to the light.”

She still took the opportunity to eye at Elem who was looking around, keeping close to Glain. The air of family was clearly there and however dangerous the situation was for the family, it was quite exciting too.

As for Elem himself, he couldn’t believe he was there, in Cardassia, both feet on the soil of Prime, of all worlds. With his brother.

“I’m a bit nervous,” he admitted with emotion.

“So am I,” Kilem clung to Terek’s arm, “but I think it’ll be fine.”

They moved along, and, not so oddly considering the destination, Timun ended up in their vicinity, flanked by the two young soldiers.

“He’s my friend Dziana’s other father,” Terek eagerly told Keelani and waved at him distantly. “He has very fancy glasses because he can’t see colors very well without them.”

“Oh, the _Vulcan_ ,” Keelani’s eyes brightened at the sight of him.

She’d looked forward to _this_ particular moment.

“Your Lykes, I presume,” she hurried over to him, “and that’s your security escort,” she continued happily, eyeing at the guards – “Gentlemen...” she sidled in between them so she could walk next to the _alien_ – “Where will you be going once your registration has been filed? I’d personally recommend Ketril; there are a lot of questionab... I mean, _alien refugees_ there,” she smiled to cover up her slip of tongue, then continued walking them to the shuttle station.

Albeit surprised by the woman’s familiarity, Timun thought it best to be just as pleasant and appeasing.

“I, ah, I’ve heard of this place, yes,” he fumbled for words a little. “I don’t expect I’ll get to spend a lot more time in the capitol, and it’s probably better this way ...even if it does look absolutely amazing,” he couldn’t help but look all around at the towers he could see in the distance, topped by arched arrows of a design that reminded him of the pylons of DS9. “But excuse me, who are you?” he dared ask her, “I’m Doctor Timun Lykes, from Trill,” he introduced himself a little more properly.

“I’m Dera’an, housekeeper to Nall Rokat. Today, I’m also your transport attendant,” she jested happily. “I’m driving you lot all the way to the Bureau of Alien Affairs,” she glanced at the soldier next to her.

He wasn’t making much of an expression at all, but that was what made him so attractive.

“Is it true what they say?” she asked Timun, finally. “Do Trills really exist? I thought they were a gross children’s story – er, I mean, _exaggerated_ , at least.”

Timun looked at the housekeeper with more amusement now.

“Of course they exist! I’m half-Trill myself,” he pointed at his markings. “Those spots aren’t just pigmentation, they are a symbiotic life form living in our epiderm, forming colonies – each spot is alike to an entire society, and they migrate less or more depending on stress levels of the host. And of course we do put squid-like creatures inside our abdominal pouch, which is also where through we procreate and carry our offspring – pregnancy can be rendered difficult if the symbionts consider the foetus to be an alien parasite and try to devour it, so both parents tend to relay each other, taking turns to bear the child in their belly pocket,” he told her excitedly, lying a little as he went on, to make things funnier. “Does that match with the children’s stories here?” he asked as they entered the transportation shuttle and all took seat.

Keelani’s warm, golden-brown eyes were narrowed in pure disgust.

“Yes, it does! Sort of! That’s positively revolting – tell me more!” she was enthused, “How do you procreate?” Then something about the tale struck her, “Can both men and women be pregnant? Do your women have regular vaginas? What does your penis look like? Is it like a Cardassian penis? Or smaller, maybe,” she glanced at his groin as if she could scan for the organ, “probably smaller.”

The guard who was sitting to Timun’s right, could no longer keep his composure and burst out laughing, until he started crying, while his companion did his best not to react at all, even though his cheeks and neckscales were quite flushed. Timun laughed along with the soldier but tried to regain composure so he could answer.

“Yes, both males and females can be pregnant, because it’s in the pouch, you see,” he pointed at his belly. And females possess vaginas. And then there are individuals who are born intersexed and they can look all sorts of ways. Our penises aren’t that small however. If you imagine them to be very small you would be very disappointed with mine,” he ensured. “ _But_ then, I’m not a reference – half-Vulcan thing,” he gestured at his pointed ears.

“And how do you do without scales?” the housekeeper pointed at his neck.

“I’m afraid our necks aren’t much erogenous,” he figured the real question.

Keelani made an aghast face at the idea of an insensible neck, and put her concerns into words: how could anyone, anywhere, _possibly_ have a sexlife without knowing the wonder of neck sensitivity? Then she went into great detail (much to the soldier’s amusement and equal embarrassment) on how to treat a woman’s scales properly – everything from massage, to oils, to preening the small hollow between scale and skin, to applying makeup, lotions and kisses, too.

“Then there are some who really favour tongue-work, and others who find other bodily fluids exciting too, what with how slidey it can make you,” she hushed her voice. “I’ve heard of socially inbred female sex,” she confided, “one rubs her vulva against the other’s neck – it’s not something very allowed to talk about,” she glanced at the closest soldier, “but I _know_ men fantasize about it _all the time_ ,” she commented, mostly at him, which made him shrink in his seat. “I always wondered how it’d feel, if it’s something inbred women actually do, or if it’s just a sort of male projection of what they _wished_ women did to each other behind closed doors.”

“I personally had never conceived of it,” the stoic soldier admitted in a squished voice, “and I wish I hadn’t.”

“Tsk, tsk, you won’t think like that later tonight,” grinned Keelani.

And as they crossed the bridge to enter into the Tarlak Sector, she continued her lecture to the alien, going onto explaining that anyway, it was every fertile Cardassian’s duty to enjoin with the opposite sex and procreate.

“Why, yes, sexual ambiguity exists in all species,” she admitted easily since Timun knew already. “We just don’t talk about it much; it’s a lot easier when things are binary, don’t you think? Laws, for instance, are a lot more practical if you only have to adjust them to two subsets of people: males and females. You have this occurring in your own species, as you said, and I don’t think there’s a single one out there that doesn’t – animals have it happen too. I once had a cat named Pilitili who was born like this. I designated him as male, because he kept on peeing on my potted plants and on the neighbour’s statue. I had to stop letting him outside when she complained that it was a disgrace toward her husband – the man had a statue of himself made and put in his own garden. How self-absorbed can you be? I _told_ her, he should’ve ordered a statue of _her_ . Now _that_ would’ve been romantic, but you know males, they are idiots – uh, no offense. I mean, you’re an alien so you’re not exactly – I mean, I’m sure you’re better than that. And the two of you, too, boys,” she smiled sweetly at the soldiers.

Further in the back, Glain was trying to explain to his siblings all there was to see through the windows. The places they passed by, the ones further in the distance, the different districts and how they were joined, how the streets were for pedestrians and how people could use the shuttles to travel through boroughs and sectors quickly – the shuttle they were on was a special one in that it didn’t stop regularly like the others did. Why? Surely because of the alien present aboard, Glain went for the easy answer – who would want to see an alien anyway? Except for Keelani.

“Glain, why don’t you tell us who is on the display now?” Elem asked as they passed by yet another large screen.

“Gul Lodar,” Glain shrugged. “He’s boring. Thank glorious Cardassia, we get to see more interesting things: trials, movies and theater plays, concerts, news reports, advice, trials, the weather of course,” he listed. “Not all citizens have a display at home, and it’s more social anyway to get out and watch together. It encourages people to engage in society and bond over the good continuity of well-conducted politics and fine arts,” he told with belief. “It’s nice entertainment, knowledge and it makes people happy.”

“Do you go out to watch the screens often?” Terek asked.

“Oh, no, only when I go out with my friends; I prefer to watch the paying channels at home, and anyway, what’s on the public screens is usually boring,” the archivist shrugged. “It’s rather meant to encourage people to go seek for more art and culture in the theaters and museums,” he nuanced so not to contradict entirely his previous say.

At last, they reached the transport station and could come down into the street. There were people there: civilians in rather formal outfits – bureaucrats. They eyed at the group but kept their distance. Thankfully, reaching destination took but a short walk.

The Bureau of Alien Affairs was a large crescent building surrounding a rather strict garden and facing an identical building on the other side of the plaza. Everything there was controlled, even the way the water flew down the sculpture throning in the middle of the courtyard. Groups of threes or fours walked together, some sat on chairs around small tables, sharing work-lunch, talking and laughing. The air was more chill due to the shadow cast over the pathway that laid across the courtyard, leading to the large doors. Above and around, the many windows looking down at them made them feel more than watched.

“Do you like it?” Keelani had sidled up with Glain as they crossed, leaving the guards to escort Timun – he was made to enter through a more modest gate to the side – “This _is_ where your father had you demoted to.”

The Bureau of _Alien Affairs_ … Glain kept his lips tight. His father had an Archon’s cynical taste when it came to punishment. Glain could very well understand that it was what he got for daring to go into alien space on his own, as to say ‘you want to see aliens, then you’ll get more of that’.

They all entered the very pristine reception hall, where, behind a sandstone desk, sat a tall young woman with an elegant crown of hair. Keelani took a ticket from the machine (they were number five in the queue, and would be next up), and sat the group by one of the round tables of the hall’s waiting corner.

“That is Ziana Malar,” Keelani told in a hushed voice and gesticulated toward the woman, who in that moment chose to look up at them, bronze-brown eyes reflecting nicely the sunrays sieving through the windows. “She’s front desk; you’ll want to keep on good terms with her – she likely knows _everyone_ working here, and some more.”

“I always get along well with women, you know that,” Glain teased Keelani. “Do you know if my superior will be a woman too?” he asked with a bit more concern.

“I’m afraid not,” Keelani answered, mentioning one Chief Archivist Torain Damar, and some Tsekel Freyar with whom Glain was supposed to work on errand-of-the-day tasks.

It was about as low a position as one could get, but he sucked it in. A new workplace was a new opportunity to meet new people, maybe even someone to enjoin to fulfill his promise. Not that he wished to think about it in that moment. Instead, he and Keelani tried to reassure the children about what was coming to them soon: the removal of their first molar for identification.

“As you’re due to be adopted by my landlord, Rokat, your social status is high enough to warrant anesthetics. You, however,” Keelani looked at Elem, a bit sorry, “you don’t have any social status at all, so you might be unfortunate, if there’s a slight shortage.”

“That’s fine with me,” Elem shrugged a little. “I wasn’t planning on asking for any.”

It took him a moment to notice the way Keelani’s eyes had widened, but then he quickly added: “High tolerance to pain. Runs in my mother’s side of the family.”

“Ha! I can imagine so, because you certainly didn’t get it from… at any rate, we Cardassians are sensitive, fine beings. We simply weren’t made to feel those things – pain, suffering... no, we experience those on a higher level than other creatures and species. That’s one of the reasons why the usage of forced labour in aliens is a viable concept – they don’t suffer like we do. Some don’t feel pain at all; it’s quite amazing.”

At that, Terek voiced a much different opinion about that, as she now quite vividly recalled certain memories of Bajorans being interrogated… Glain had to shush the improper topic before their number was summoned and they reached the desk.

“Hello,” Glain smiled brightly at Ziana, “I have two children to register.”

“Are they yours?” she asked in a rather deep and melodic voice. “It would have been preferable if the mother had been present. Men are not very good at cheering them up after the treatment,” she clarified without any real judgement, only a simple observation.

“They are to be adopted,” Keelani intercepted the conversation, “by Nall Rokat. I am his housekeeper,” she puffed out her chest some, and Ziana nodded.

“You could’ve just taken them to the registrar down the alley; this _is_ the Bureau of Alien Affairs and we don’t often double as identification. I’m not going to report the misconduct, though; this task should please Notator Dain,” she tapped her panel a couple of times, then went over adding Elem to the Notator’s list of clients for the day.

That done, the little group went down a lengthy corridor and reached the Notatorial waiting room. After a rather short time, a very tidy young man arrived – around thirty, tall, slender, dressed in elegant formal clothes with a high collar hiding almost all of his neck.

“Hello, little children,” he grinned, showing bright, perfectly aligned teeth. “Oh, not so little today,” he noticed. “Please, come in, one at a time. Everything will go smoothly and nicely.”

“I’ll go first,” Terek decided. “This way I don’t have to be worried any longer.”

“That’s a smart reasoning,” the Notator approved.

Glain followed them into the nearby cabinet, but paled when he saw the Chief Notator there. Her face was older but it wasn’t one he would ever forget nor fail to recognize. _Irimal Sayad_.

“Ha! That’s the face of someone whose tooth I’ve removed,” she croaked amusedly. “Which one was it, hm?” she winced a little then clapped her fingers, “ _Rokat!_ Of course! Rokat…”

“Glain,” the young man completed with a dull voice.

She laughed, like fondly recalling the memory.

“You cried so much and it was such a small tooth! Those roots were adorable! And now… Oh, this can’t possibly be your daughter,” she looked at Terek.

“I’m his sister,” the girl said. “Let’s get over with this.”

“Ah, yes, yes, that definitely can’t be your daughter,” Sayad nodded. “Sokal Dain is my assistant,” she gestured at the young man, “Would you agree to let him perform this duty?”

“Yes, absolutely!” Glain answered instantly.

“Don’t worry, I love children,” Dain flashed a smile at him before turning to Terek, “though you’re almost an adult now,” he flattered her and went over with the job.

He explained the full procedure, making sure she understood what he was saying before requiring of her to undress completely. He let her sit on the examination chair while going over to ask many questions, starting with her name.

“Tilayan,” she told. “I don’t recall my former family name, but it doesn’t matter, right?”

“Once this is all done, you’ll be Tilayan Rokat and it’ll be all that matters,” the Notator agreed pleasantly and went over about her, her family and origins to ensure everything matched with the files that had been transmitted and make edits accordingly.

She did her best, trying to recall all she could although many memories were still missing or blurry – Dain encouraged her and congratulated her regularly. His superior however seemed to have grown bored and started to play some game on a PADD after Glain had turned down her offer to play kotra with her. Dain didn’t seem to mind, simply going onto his business with the physical examination, which he made quite thorough, with a number of tests to detect possible disabilities. He was especially impressed with the auditory results, marveling at the fine hearing of the young girl. The retinal identification scan wasn’t too pleasant of course, but she didn’t complain.

However, he hadn’t expected to find blood on the seat when he required that his patient got up for some of the tests – Sayad burst in laughter.

“You, idiot! I knew you’d forget something!” she smacked her lap.

“How dare you laugh at my sister!” Glain rose up in anger.

“She’s laughing at me,” Dain corrected, “not at you,” he assured to the unfortunate girl. “I’m really sorry, it’s my fault. Come, there’s a sonic shower in this corner,” he led her to the area.

Once the mess was cleaned, he went onto the genital examination with acute care.

“At least we’re very certain that your female organs are functioning very well,” he cheered up. “And now, let’s get to the extraction. I’m going to inject you an anesthetic so you won’t feel any pain, only sensations,” he explained before proceeding.

“And don’t put too much,” Sayad croaked. “You always put too much.”

“I believe it gives good results,” Dain kept on smiling. “There you go,” he hyposprayed the girl, then quickly proceeded to remove her molar with his favorite dental clamp.

It resisted a bit but eventually came out and the young man washed it quickly before showing it to her.

“Pretty and pointed!” he commented before putting in a small box labeled to her identification number, along with some hair and a blood sample.

He quickly went over the aftercare to heal the wound and let her spit out the blood and wash her mouth. She got up, a little dizzy, and let herself be led to the sonic shower before Glain helped her dress and put a new protection for her underwear.

“You’re doing that about as well as a girl,” Sayad commented as she approached to take a better look at the young man.

“Anyone must be prepared for this if they hope to ever have children,” Glain replied haughtily.

The old woman snickered but didn’t add any more insult.

“I’ll do the next one,” she decided and went outside to see what she was up to. “So, so… I suppose you are Kilem,” she pointed at the smallest of the three. “Come with me.”

Pale as freshly fallen snow, Kilem had to muster all of his courage to follow her. Glain tried to voice a concern but Sayad shut him off. Dain had a glimmer of pity in the eye but supported his superior as could be expected, ensuring she was among the bests.

“I wouldn’t be so old if I weren’t,” the woman laughed.

Unlike her assistant however, she didn’t bother to explain the protocol; the child would figure out anyway and she didn’t intend on dying of old age losing time over such insignificant details. When came the sex assignation, she gave him a sorry look.

“Well, well, that’s unfortunate. A boy without a penis. Tough job for you finding a woman when you grow up. Maybe you should become the sort of doctor that can grow penises and attach one to yourself,” she teased.

Glain shot her a death glare and Kilem stared at the horrible woman with wounded outrage.

“Maybe I will, and then in the night, I’ll visit you, and graft one to your nose. See how you like that,” he snarked with acid sincerity, though he didn’t feel as angry as he should have.

Instead, he felt mostly sad, especially since he figured that maybe it would be unfair to Terek to be with her, since he didn’t have a penis. Glain came over the child to pat his head comfortingly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll _pay_ for it myself if I have to,” he assured, even though he really wasn’t sure how much it would be and what money he would have left afterwards.

“Don’t be soft like that with him, or at least not in here!” Sayad fussed at him. “Now let’s get that tooth, and _Dain_ ,” she turned over him as she loaded the hypospray, “ _that_ is a proper dosage.”

The young man nodded and simply observed as she injected the child and locked his head in the seat with a strap before forcing him to open his mouth, then yanked the tooth out. Glain thought he was going to faint as memories flashed back in his mind – he could well imagine how his father had felt and felt sorry that his mother wasn’t here to help comfort Kilem like she did him. Clearly, the painkiller had been underdosed.

“It was supposed to be painless!” he glared at Sayad, coming over the poor child.

“He’s a wuss,” the old woman shrugged, “and as such he fits perfectly in your family,” she simply continued with the protocol. “Now move away so I can heal that wound. That one won’t hurt,” she told Kilem like she was scolding him.

As soon as the little boy was released, he ran to hide and sob behind Glain who tried his best to comfort him.

Then Sayad looked at the clock and jumped off her seat, “Ah, it’s my break! Dain, you continue, and don’t you use anesthetics on the next one. No status, no anesthetics,” she stated the rule before storming out of the room.

“What just happened?” Glain blinked in mild confusion while half-hugging, half-dressing Kilem.

“It’s her break; she’s going to play kotra with the seniors,” Dain smiled, quite happy to be in charge of the room. “You haven’t been working around elderly employees nearing retirement, have you?”

“There is no slacking in my department, or at least not so blatant,” the archivist said. “Or was… I’ve been demoted here,” he admitted.

“Really? Then we might meet each other again, who knows?” Dain laughed while going to a cupboard to pick something in a small box hidden there, soon handing a comfort candy over to Kilem.

Next came Elem, whom he welcomed gleefully, flashing his perfect white smile – “I am Sokal Dain and I will be your Notator.”

Elem acted submissive and obedient, undressing while the man resumed to his place by the computer. He had the surprise to find that a file about the mother existed, one Ywanna Kel, although most of the archive was sealed by the Obsidian Order – his father had taught him how to recognize such seals to stay away from trouble.

“And your father? Would you know who he is?” he asked. “I must mention that our service is only and solely dedicated to registering information. We do not communicate data to anyone ...except, of course, the Ministry of Justice, if they require it to verify details for a criminal investigation. But we will not notify anyone of your father’s wrongdoings,” he told reassuringly.

Elem hesitated long enough that it was obvious that he knew the answer.

“I can’t know for certain, of course, but according to my mother, my father is likely to be Nall Rokat,” he looked away, blushing awkwardly.

Sokal Dain was having a field day. It almost made up for his great _disappointment_ not to have been allowed to record the _real alien_ – clearly, Sayad had appointed Arkeny Kovat instead of him in last minute _just_ to mess with him. But now, they were both missing out on all the fun. Things turned less fun however when Elem mentioned the mutilations performed on him as an infant. Sokal was thus about thankful when came his favorite task, nearing completion of the registration.

“Now, time has come to remove your molar, and I am sorry to tell you that my superior forbade me to use any anesthetic. The drug we use also helps to loosen the roots, and this means that I will have to just yank harder until the tooth comes out. It will hurt, it will be bloody and it will certainly be quite unpleasant,” he told, trying to appear sorry but still smiling as if those were actually pretty good news, all while restraining his patient into the chair. “I promise you that I make it a personal duty to make this moment as pleasant and memorable as can be – it is the moment for you to become a _true_ Cardassian _citizen_ and it should be wonderful.” And it made him feel all the more noble and important. He made people with a clamp – a honorable duty he was ever thankful to be tasked with.

Elem’s cheeks and neck flushed a little, and he felt his blood flow increase to _certain_ parts of his body. _Not now_ , he smiled a bit awkwardly and tried to think about spiders.

“I’m sure it will be,” he said solemnly, spread his fingers wide and then grabbed at the armrests. “I’m ready whenever you are, Doctor.”

Should he tell him about his odd relationship with pain? Maybe no. If he spoke about it, he might get an erection, and _that_ would certainly be awkward.

Sokal Dain inhaled and relaxed, sinking into a slightly different mood, calmer but all the more confident. Softer but sharper too. He put a protective glove on his left hand and seized Elem’s jaw. He looked into the black eyes a moment, seeking for the pupils, trying to figure out the limit between them and the iris; a difficult exercise, especially in the dimly-lit room. His gloved hand prevented the halfbreed from opening his mouth yet – the Notator would be the one to decide for this movement to happen.

“From now on, Elem Kel, you are to surrender yourself entirely to Cardassia, to the State, and embody our values of love, dedication, endurance and sacrifice, of family, devotion and submission, of strength, wisdom and intelligence,” he told, gazing intensely into those black eyes. “As a representant of Cardassia, I have the honor of making you into one of us,” he could feel shivers in his neck as he took on his godly role and pressed his thumb inside Elem’s mouth before inserting the clamp.

He caressed the teeth and stopped on the last one in the back of the mouth, working expertly to seize it, and started to yank, never stopping to stare into the unfathomable pits. The tooth resisted, and it was all the best for him. It had to be an effort to welcome a halfbreed into his superior society. He smiled with kind cruelty, enjoying himself.

Fascination quickly filled him as his patient started to moan and arched her head so the reach would be better, finally closing his eyes to breathe better, ragged, rough and warm. The sounds Elem made were hardly those of someone in pain, and Sokal feverishly moved the tooth more than he yanked on it, pretending to try to remove it more gently than forcefully. It was almost like sex in how intimate and indecent it all was. When he felt his own organs reacting he decided he had toyed far too much – it was getting to be degrading and a perversion of his pure and noble duty – and he yanked the tooth out of its bleeding encasing.

“There,” he grinned, holding it for Elem to see. He felt shivers running down his back and flushed a lot more when he lowered his eyes at last and noticed how very much aroused his patient really was.

“... _th_ ould ha’ ’old _h_ you _h_ I have _h_ ... ’o ’ain...” Elem tried to speak, wishing the bindings would have at least allowed to cross legs to try and hide the embarrassing erection. “ _Th_ orry.”

“It’s fine…” the Notator couldn’t help but keep on grinning softly, cunning in the eyes as he dropped the teeth in the sonic cleaner.

He quickly put it into the box he’d prepared and went onto the healing business with delicate, almost sensual care.  Yet, he looked at what he was doing so he wouldn’t have to look at Elem’s embarrassing state of arousal. He knew better than to make any comment. When the wound was healed, he cared to wipe the blood before freeing the young woman so she could have a glass of water.

“And… do you have plans for your new life here?” he asked as if the question were casual. “Do you have a place to stay?”

He got an answer, but the mashed pronunciation was starting to challenge his understanding of Federal tongue, so he went over to administer a dose of analgesics to dull the pain. Elem did appreciate recovering a better speech, and let him inquire some more about her skills and potential prospects of activity while he escorted her to the sonic shower, distractedly ending up in it too.

“Are you going to shower with me?” Elem asked confusedly.

“I, ah… Is your balance all- alright?” he stuttered and tried to compose himself. “It’s only soundwaves after all, it’s not like I’m at risk of getting wet, but-” he blushed again due to the ideas crossing his mind. “Maybe you want privacy.”

“Maybe I do,” Elem answered, unable to break eye-contact with the Notator – this wasn’t good at all. “This is _very_ inappropriate,” he cared to point out, though he found that he didn’t mind so much, even though he was _already_ disappointed with himself for being such a hopeless slut all of a sudden.

It wasn’t as if he knew Dain or had any sort of romantic tie to him: all that had happened was that he’d hurt him. Was this how it was going to be from now and on? Was he doomed to end up sexually aroused by anyone who hurt him? Elem wished he were more than this, deeper and more loyal, capable of keeping himself to himself until he found an actual _romantic_ partner.

The Notator on his behalf was mildly disturbed by what had happened. He’d _never_ seen anyone react this way (especially not children, thankfully) and never imagined it could even be possible.

“Your Kel…” he addressed her while she dressed herself, keeping his back turned to her, “Is this… specificity of yours… connected to your Betazoid heritage? I mean, have you ever had a brain scan during such a… nerve stimulation?” he asked, trying to be formal and scientific.

“That’s too many questions at the same time,” Elem rubbed his temples, then, for a lack of better alternatives, sat on the bench. “I never had a brain scan during something like this – in fact, I didn’t use to have a sexual reaction in addition to the overall pleasure. It’s something my body has started doing lately, and I’m not entirely sure why,” he itched his chin. “But it does have to do with my Betazoid abilities. It’s a type of conditioning, the kind that you can only induce through telepathy. What about you?” he cared to follow up.

Unused to be the one receiving the questions, the Notator was a bit puzzled at first, turning around and looking at Elem as if there was something quite off to the situation.

“Me?” he asked, and understood the implicit as he spoke. Oh. He composed himself more formally. “If you’d like to know, I suppose it would have to be off-duty,” he answered with a discreet smile and cunning spark to his eyes.

Elem swore inwardly at himself, while his body delivered him rather blatant answers in the form of blood surges and swelling. Oh. Just indulging once couldn’t be that bad, could it? It wasn’t as if he were a virgin, anyway – and emotions might evolve, after all!

“Where would you like to meet?” he finally asked, still hesitant about agreeing straight away – was he too easy? He was, wasn’t he?

“You’ll be with your family tonight, your ‘host’ will probably want to spend time with you all of tomorrow and may not be ready to let you out the day after either. But the next, we could meet in Tra’Dan park, around sixteen hours?” Dain suggested, barely believing he was proposing a _date_ to a _patient_. “The arcades plaza around the statue,” he specified, hoping dearly that nobody would possibly report this misconduct. “I could show you around the surroundings a little more.”

“That sounds like it could be rather pleasant. I’ll be there,” Elem accepted, then backed toward the doors. “Unless there’s anything else you want to ask me now, I should probably leave before Glain thinks you killed me.”

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you I’d rather we keep this to ourselves,” he grinned, starting to flash a thin line of white teeth again. “I’ll see you there. Take care, and may you have a pleasant time with the Rokat family,” he greeted politely.

“And a good day to you too, Notator Dain,” Elem bowed a little as he backed out of the room, and then turned to the waiting group, letting the door close behind him.

“That took longer than I thought it would!” he told them, still a bit unsteady on his feet, and starting to walk in the entirely wrong direction.

## * * *

Nall Rokat’s house in Paldar was a modest dwelling of three stories (and a cellar) with a small garden in the back, shared with Keelani’s much smaller house on the other side of the garden. The little family of three mostly lived in the downstairs, as the upstairs was mostly filled with several generations of _emotional garbage_ , if Glain should be honest about it – not that he’d ever dare say it like that in front of his father however. Still, there was room enough to house everybody – Elem would have Glain’s room, and the children, the guest room.

Elem’s first contact with his father wasn’t what he’d imagined, as the man, despite all his efforts to stay awake, had fallen asleep in the living room’s sofa. His wife had kindly covered him with a delicate curtain she’d picked from the window, and Keelani had to take her back to her room while Glain managed the rest. He’d opted to get the table dressed to wake up his father with the scent of warm rokassa juice.

The young man was most pleased to find a box of his favorite pastries in the fridge, along with meketa – fishbread with fish egg-cream filling, slices of hard-boiled bird eggs and shrimps topping. Then he realized there were portions for four people only, and then, on another shelf, Keelani’s favorite fish pudding and Glain’s least favorite soup (it was viscous like raw egg white, and Glain easily felt disgusted by it). His shoulders slumped a little and he figured he wasn’t so hungry anymore after all.

The children vanished from sight in the meanwhile to explore the house already, and Elem laid plates on the table, daydreaming. Notator Dain kept on stealing his attention as he blamed himself for agreeing to his proposition so easily. He couldn’t help but wonder _why_ the man would ask to keep it a secret too, and suddenly figured with horror that he had to be _enjoined_ already. That, or he didn’t really want anyone to know he was meeting with a _half_ -Cardassian, which also made sense, but wasn’t entirely as shocking as infidelity.

He was startled out of his thoughts as Glain realized the kids had gone and tasked his sibling to greet their father while he went to look for them. Elem kept glued in place for a moment, wondering how to approach the man. The man who was his father.

He wasn’t sure how to explain him why he was _alone_ in his house and-

And then he found himself staring into dark brown eyes, as the man had made his way to the kitchen on his own, a bit disorientated and still wrapped in the curtain. Then, he realized whom Elem must be, and croaked a little to himself.

Elem was tongue-tied.

He could barely breathe, let alone speak. They looked at each other in silence, then Nall looked at what he was wearing, and discarded it on the floor, hurrying over to hold Elem’s hands, then his face. He _could_ certainly see parts of himself in there. Tears were starting to gather in those warm eyes, until the old Cardassian simply collapsed over his child, holding him close and leaning their foreheads together.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was a bit strangled as he tried to control himself.

Elem folded his arms around him. Around his _father,_ and despite being taller, the man felt so small, so frail, while at the same time so strong. His _emotions_ were strong, and infectious – in the end, they were both sobbing into each other’s shoulder. Elem’s heart hurt, his entire chest hurt. The soft warmth he felt for the man in his arms was a scorching sun, and he burned himself in its light.

 

Further away in the house, Glain found that the children had found his mother.

“Nall, my dear,” she chimed at him and came over to lace her frail arms around him, “look, Glain lost his first tooth!” she beamed proudly, turning Kilem around and gesticulating to him.

Glain hiccuped a little when she pronounced his name and hugged her. It was embarrassing, but he found that his mother was more compliant when he played along, and he did not want to distress her.

“Liyara… This child you’ve made is so proud of you and loves you so much,” he pressed his forehead against hers. “But come, let’s sit back on the bed,” he led her gently. “You’re not wearing much anything; I wouldn’t want you to get cold, sulim,” he cooed with a gentleness that hurt his throat. “Glain went to the Notator today,” he told her. “He was very brave, wasn’t he? And Tilayan went too,” he caressed Terek’s shoulder. “She’s visiting us for the first time. She’s a new friend,” he added before introducing his mother to the children. “Liyara Rokat is Glain’s mother. She’s a lovely person but she’s also very tired…”

Liyara smiled sunnily and ruffled Kilem’s hair a bit.

“Very brave,” she echoed, but then her expression got darker. “That awful woman! No, Nall, I’m not going to apologize to her, she deserved getting slapped.”

Then she broke into mutters and went back to the bed, folding the blankets into a neat pile, which she then brought to the cupboard and started to put away.

Kilem, with a certain degree of distraught, tried to correct his hair back to how it used to look. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he tugged a bit at Glain’s sleeve and looked up at him with a silent question. The young man retreated from the room with the children.

“My mother has a disease for which there is no cure, and even if there were, it’s too late for her now. Pathways in her brain are no longer functioning as they should and most of her memories are partially or completely gone. She interprets the world based on those fragments of her past, she no longer records new events...” he said bravely, trying not to let his feelings get in the way. “She stopped recognizing me one year ago already, and since then, she’s been confusing me for my father at best. I suppose the only part of me she remembers is the child I once was...” he rubbed Kilem’s shoulder a bit. “But I’d rather we don’t speak about it for now.”

He really didn’t want to end up crying. She still remembered him, she still had such vivid memories sometimes… but it was torture to see them reenacted. She looked like his mother, she spoke and acted like her sometimes, but it was only a repetition of the past, like fragments of archives running on empty. She was not a person anymore, she was only alive and confused, and it was time to let her go. But that decision wasn’t his to take, and he ached in the waiting.

They returned to the living room and Glain stopped on the kitchen’s threshold, feeling his heart clutch at the sight of his father and his brother hugging. Acid formed in his stomach at once and he felt an impulse to go and separate them, and slap Elem. But he didn’t act on it. They were really there. His older sibling was there. The concurrence was now real, and he remained struck where he stood, cold inside. He wasn’t even sure if he was welcome to approach Nall and his eyes were prickling in a way he did not like. Defensive and doing his best to hold a formal composure, he clung to the children, maybe in fear to be abandoned by them too. He’d never felt so alone and unwelcome in his own house.

Replaced.

It was all Elem’s fault and his feelings for his sibling were once more very conflicted. His father noticed him but ignored him in favor of welcoming the children and placing all those whose existence he acknowledged around the table. When Nall’s gaze landed on Glain, his expression hardened as he sat himself down, pointedly leaving the seat with the soup as the only open one. His son submitted to the humiliation with as much dignity as he could although the sight of the dish made him nauseous. Nall didn’t care. He looked over the faces present at his table, and couldn’t help but to feel a bit enthused at the number.

“It’s been a long time since this roof last saw this many occupants,” he smiled, then added with a glint of humour, “no wonder my wife is exhausted, considering how many children I’ve got all of a sudden.”

Keelani’s smile was mostly a courtesy, Kilem looked more confused than amused, and Elem was too preoccupied with ceasing to cry to be able to listen to much of anything. So Tilayan took it upon herself to further the discussion, telling of the Notation and the trip aboard the splendid Cardassian vessel. Nall was positive about it all until she went a little further in the past, mentioning how Glain saved them from the Maquis, and how Elem risked his life to eject the ship’s warp core, at which point Nall decided to talk to his illegitimate child.

With great happiness, he told him of all the preparations he’d made already.

“I’m looking for a surgeon to restore your organs and I’ve planned for eye alterations to take place some time after this, and _then_ we might flush your gametes to get rid of any Betazoid DNA present there, so that you may provide me with healthy grandchildren once you get enjoined – I’ve already found some prospective husbands for you,” he beamed happily, while Elem got a bit pale. “I am _very_ much looking forward to seeing this family grow by the numbers.”

“Surely those two last operations aren’t necessary...” Elem finally managed to bring his opinion to the table.

Nall looked at him, not understanding.

“They are minor operations, and they’ll make you fully Cardassian in regards to your role as a woman – and you _are_ almost thirty years old; I’d rather you reproduced before age makes it more difficult. Such things can happen; it’s why Glain never had another sibling,” he reminded himself of Glain, and looked over at him. “And why it’s such a disappointment that he doesn’t listen to his father, and gets himself and _everyone else_ nearly slain in a terrorist attack.”

“I apologize, father…” the young man answered with a very small voice, finally daring to look up at him. “Have you… found some prospective females who might be a positive potential for me to enjoin with?” he asked with careful docility. “I do look forward meeting them…”

“Yes, Keelani and I have discussed it at length, and since she’s still fertile, we’ve decided you will enjoin her,” Nall told him as if it was the greatest news he’d ever delivered to anyone.

Keelani, on her behalf, choked a bit on her fish juice. Glain stared at his father with a bit of shock, not knowing if it was a joke or serious.

“But she’s too old!” his little sister burst instead. “With all due respect of course.”

“Too old?!” Keelani reproached with much opposition, setting her glass on the table to grab hold of Tilayan’s ear and squeeze it a bit, “There is no such thing as too old!” she taught her. “As long as you’re fertile, you’re never too old.” Then she let go, sourly taking her drink again, “Besides, he’d be very boring in bed, or so I’ve heard.”

“You can’t say that about my son!” Nall reacted, then realized what he’d said, blushing a deep dark color. “Oh bother, this is the worst conversation I’ve had all day,” he complained. “And besides, I still think you’d make a good match for Glain – you’re both shameless,” he grouched and ate his pastry in grumpy silence. Keelani glared at him.

“Better that than shameful,” she reckoned, then softened, “Nall-”

“No,” he answered instantly, and her softness went away.

“Suit yourself,” she bit her bread with vengeance, then pointed it at Glain. “So you’re really not going to tell him of all the girls you’ve interviewed these past days? It got _so_ hectic, I expected Reyal to accuse him of trying to open a pleasure palace any day now.”

Nall dropped his pastry.

“Not in front of the children,” he hushed her frantically.

“What’s a pleasure palace?” Kilem asked innocently, and Nall blushed even more.

“Glain, you can explain.”

“It’s what Terok Nor used to be,” Tilayan answered first, “I heard of it: they took the prettiest and angriest Bajoran women and forced them to comfort the Cardassian militaries by doing all those things Prylar Anik was so flustered about,” she told him.

Glain hid his face behind his palm, flushing horribly.

“This is _not_ …” he couldn’t find his words for the rest of the sentence, simply gesticulating. “You _can’t_ say this! And I told you we are _not_ to talk about anything related to the Bajor colony, nor Bajorans, and especially not sex with Bajorans; that’s disgusting!”

“It is,” the girl absolutely agreed. “So you’re going to enjoin with how many women then?”

“ _One!_ ” Glain glared at her a bit more.

“Do we get to meet the candidates too? How are they?” she asked Nall with interest. “The one he enjoins gets to be our sister-in-law or something like that, right?”

The head of family thus proceeded to tell his son of the two women he was to meet the next day after his morning shift at work, and went on about his planning for the children – their capabilities would be evaluated first in order to determine which school they should join.

“As for _you_ all,” he finally beamed happily at everyone who _wasn’t_ Glain, “tomorrow, I’m taking everyone to South Torr,” he sent a brief look at Elem. “Food, music, dance, art... it’ll be great fun, and I hear it’s going to be a warm, pleasant day.”

The smiles that followed were soon interrupted by a chime at the door and Glain threw an interrogative glare at his father, as to ask if they were waiting for someone more.

“It’s my home,” Nall defended himself, “I’ll invite whoever I want! Not that I did,” he added with a frown, getting up at the same time as Keelani: “It’s my door, I’ll open it myself,” he told her.

“Ah, too old to open doors now, am I?” she snarked at him, but sat back down.

“Don’t argue with me now,” Nall waved his finger at her, then went to the door, frowning a bit before opening. “Yes? Oh, it’s you,” he looked at the pale man standing there.

He _should_ have seen it coming. Iltarel was the white shadow in the wake of his son, and Nall didn’t even question the timing.

“Greetings, Your Rokat,” the young man stood calm, arms crossed behind his back.

Something about him seemed untouched by the world around him, probably due to the absence of pigmentation to his skin and hair that made him seem alike to a ghost. Even the way his skin reflected light was somewhat amiss, which made him stand out even more.

“I hope I do not intrude. I understood that Glain was coming back today, probably, and I wanted to inform him and you of some potentially suitable mates I have listed,” he said quietly and raised his pale gaze to something more piercing. “I am surprised you did not contact me sooner. I thought it was common knowledge that I’ve had this list ordered and updated for years. Now, while I would be most delighted to see my dear friend, I hold a suspicion that you may be having some guests and I would abhor to intrude,” he told, though Nall knew him well enough to know the sentiment was otherwise. “Nonetheless, Pitir and I wished to do a small gesture to encourage your son on this path or maturity he has engaged in,” he added, revealing the small box he’d been holding behind his back. It came from the bakery in which his brother worked, and most certainly contained a pastry.

Nall made for a very convincing image of pure suffering but stepped aside.

“They aren’t my guests, they all live here,” he led the guest to the kitchen, where Keelani abandoned her chair so Iltarel could take it in her stead – she’d finished eating, anyway.

“Iltarel,” Nall toured the table, “I’d like you to meet Tilayan and Kilem, my children,” he beamed happily to him, “and this is Elem Kel, my… protégée, I guess,” he gesticulated to each of the persons at a time – Kilem looked at the albino with interest, wondering what mutation could cause this kind of thing.

“Pleased to meet you,” Elem thought to say, a bit distracted over the _brightness_ of the other’s skin.

“And the pleasure is shared fully,” he paid Elem a small bow before he came to sit, still observing and assimilating the sudden, unexpected, unpredictable new configuration of the Rokat family.

He then looked at Glain and set the box between them. The archivist looked at his friend sheepishly.

“You went to Bajor,” Iltarel started flatly. “You are a terrible person, Glain Rokat, and I often wonder how it comes we are friends. I brought a pastry for myself,” he opened the box. There was a second one, “Pitir must have had pity of you.”

Glain blushed a bit and took the other one, discarding his soup with relief.

“I’ll have to thank him,” he said before looking at the others. Then he met his father’s glare and his friend took the pastry from his hand.

“I suppose my brother would have opted to give it to the children,” he handed it over to them. “Share equally,” he instructed.

Glain sighed. At least he’d gulped a bit of sugar while his father wasn’t looking.

“Iltarel is among my dearest friends. We studied in the same Institute,” he introduced him to Elem and the kids.

“About time,” the aforementioned scolded him without much emotion. “I am Iltarel Jarad,” he completed. “I currently work as filing clerk. And you?” he looked at Elem with impassive eyes.

“Elem hasn’t been employed yet; she only just arrived in Cardassia,” Nall interrupted any potential answer, as he found Iltarel to be rude and out of order as usual. “She’s an engineer, and I think she’ll adapt to Cardassian tech _perfectly well_ given some time.”

Iltarel’s attention on Elem had increased at the mention of engineering. He quite could noticed that the woman did not look exactly female, but he didn’t point out the obvious.

“What type of engineering?” he asked and Glain snickered.

“Iltarel is a dilettante engineer,” he explained. “He was a Conservator’s assistant, but he threw it all away to now deliver permits for weapons field-testing,” he made sure not to mention Conservator Naker’s name, as relationships between him and Nall had gone a bit sour after this.

“I get to be around engineers, and I work my way to the position I want,” the clerk commented simply.

“Which is?” Elem asked, instead of answering the question that had been directed at him.

Nall, in his disagreement of the topic, simply got up and muttered something about going to the garden to water the weeds while the conversation degenerated into technobabble about weapons as soon as Glain mentioned the rifle Elem made – Keelani herself had a lot to say about sniper rifles.

“You’re into weapons then?” Elem asked to Iltarel, “How are you even capable of staying friends with Glain when he seems to _hate_ them?”

“We don’t have to enjoy everything the other likes,” Iltarel answered. “Besides, he’s very talented at programmation, and coding together has provided us with a lot of interesting projects. I’m better with the hardware, and he with the software.”

“We make a good team,” Glain agreed.

“You are still a whelp, Glain Rokat. But you are stronger than you seem,” Iltarel allowed himself a little grin. “You have a lot going on against you,” he set his eyes back on Elem. “How did you make it to Cardassia? It mustn’t have been easy.”

At the same time, Kilem looked back and forth between Glain and Iltarel, figuring things.

“Do you comfort each other sometimes?” he asked, prompting Keelani to stifle some laughter while the question flew _far_ past Iltarel’s ears. Elem however blushed a bit at the notion and had to clear his throat to answer the man’s question.

“It’s a long story,” he answered, uncertain of what he could even answer, considering the situation was as it was, “I have skills I want to use, and I needed a purpose other than maintaining the engines of a public transport ship. I wanted to join a fleet, but... I figure that might not be possible here either now that I’m a woman…” He was still disappointed about it.

“But _DO_ you comfort each other?!” Kilem pressed urgently.

“We don’t,” Glain snapped.

“We do,” Iltarel gave him a slightly offended look, wondering why his friend lied.

“Believe me, we don’t,” Glain insisted. “Not in _that_ sense.”

Iltarel straightened up a bit in a fight or flee reflex and observed Kilem.

“Oh. _That_ sense… Then indeed no,” he took a deeper breath, looking down at the center of the table, “but I suppose this little one is quite perceptive.” He set his eyes back on Kilem and explained, “Glain once became _confused_ about my feelings for him and made some advances that I had to turn down, which was for the best, really. Men aren’t meant to comfort each other.”

“You didn’t have to tell that,” Glain glared at him.

“I do not want your little brother to think I lay with men. I do not lay with anyone,” he shrugged discreetly. Then, as his friend was about to speak, he added, “I know what you are about to say and it is untrue. I am fertile. I was tested again recently.”

“Why aren’t men meant to comfort each other?” Kilem peeped up, cutting anything Elem would have said rather short.

Keelani snorted.

“Men comfort each other _all_ the time, they just aren’t meant to _enjoin_ , that’s all,” she looked pointedly at Iltarel. “I believe you will _become_ infertile if you don’t properly train your reproductive organs – simply pleasuring oneself isn’t the same thing at all. You have to remind your body of the details of reproduction,” she scolded him with a raised hand. “And it is better to do it with another male, than with no one at all.” Then she puffed herself up, “ _‘Too old’_ ha, skin of my neck…”

“You can’t say that!” Nall appeared in the doorway again as if he’d been standing there listening all along, scandalized. “Such obscene things _in front of the children_ , and with _guests_ and what would _the Ministry think_ – and the cameras!” he gesticulated in the general direction of everything he mentioned, before shooing her from his chair and reclaiming it while she dashed back to the dishes, cackling to herself. “These are forbidden topics in this house now. There will be no more talk of laying with men nor comforting _anyone_.”

He swallowed hard and looked at Iltarel, then at Elem, then at Iltarel again.

“Thank you,” Iltarel appreciated – his cheeks and neck had turned a bright purplish shade of embarrassment. “I deeply sympathize to your suffering, Your Rokat, and I sincerely hope that your elder will soon bring you the satisfaction of enjoinment and children,” he set a datarod on the table, quite ceremoniously so. “I took the initiative to make a list of candidates – I selected only families with status about similar to yours, and predominantly women who have been ah… _complicated to enjoin_ ,” he said as a euphemism. “It was my understanding that Glain has increased interest for those of his kind, and it would seem that those _peculiarities_ wouldn’t be dominant genes, which might give you hope to maybe hold great grandchildren someday.”

Nall sighed and took the datarod.

“I am not sure whether I should scold you for the nerve, or thank you for your effort. Not that I think Glain much deserves the kindness right now,” he looked at his son rather sternly. “You’ll have to move your things to the other house yourself. I already packed them, but you’re going to carry them, where everyone can see you.”

“That’s a bit cruel-” Elem jolted a bit when Nall glared at him to, but the expression softened rather quickly.

“It’s a punishment, it’s _supposed_ to be cruel. Now, Glain, get going,” he shooed him off, then lifted the datarod again. “How did you know I was looking?”

“Reyal had word that you were looking, and so did I,” Iltarel said simply while Glain left the table to start with his assignment. “I believe your son didn’t just find children on Bajor. Reyal will soon know of those adoptees, Your Rokat, and he will draw conclusions… If he were to feel threatened over suspicions, he might get more aggressive.”

“It’s not illegal to adopt,” Nall defended himself annoyedly. “Besides, I already forbade Glain to do anything with Reyal. I don’t _think_ I need to worry about anything. Now, if he wants to sue me over a couple of children, he’s welcome to try. He’ll make a fool of himself, as usual.”

“Your Rokat,” Iltarel was a bit concerned, “You have done nothing wrong, but I believe you _do_ know that criminals often attack innocents ...such as yourself. Else, there would be no criminals. _If_ Reyal, during his time on Bajor, had committed crimes and managed to keep those facts hidden… and if your son had found clues leading to proofs which he would have then _found_ on Bajor… Wouldn’t that be a dangerous situation for Glinn Reyal?” he suggested. “Your son, I’m afraid, is both too smart and too talkative for his own good. As his friend and friend of the Rokat family, I would consider it prudent of myself to ask him what exactly he found or did not found, so to evaluate whether your family might come out of the next Reyal attack unscathed or done for. This might be the final trial, Conservator,” he told with serious and calm.

Nall looked at Iltarel with bemusement.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he asked him quite frankly. “Of course I _know_ that. You’re really rather arrogant to think you’d be of _any_ help whatsoever in this – what are you, even? An errand boy? Do I look like I require help from an errand boy?” he huffed through his nose and got up. “I’ll be helping my son move his crates.”

“Me too!” Kilem bounced off of the chair to follow Nall, and Keelani took his chair with relief.

“He’s gorgeous when he’s angry,” she admired a bit dreamily.

Iltarel vaguely nodded at that statement, slightly confused.

“My uncle’s new wife is with child,” he said as if it explained a lot of things. “If Rokat doesn’t eradicate Reyal, this will most certainly be the worst year of my life,” he gazed into the void.

“Are you enjoined, Your Jarad?” Tilayan asked politely – the clerk heaved a small sigh.

“Not yet.”

Tilayan nodded and looked at Elem.

“You both like engineering, maybe you should enjoin each other.”

Iltarel froze but didn’t react further, not wishing to betray any feeling nor offend those of others. Keelani had to muffle a cackle and get up again not to start laughing in a more rude way, and Elem stared a bit emptily in front of himself, cheeks darkening.

“I- I would like to think there’s more to enjoinment than just common interest,” he tried to keep courteous, “and while I’m sure he’s rather perceptive and clever, I don’t even know him,” he got up from the chair a bit awkwardly and looked around, realized he didn’t know where his assigned room was, and sat down again. “My first priority is to make a reputation for myself, anyway.”

Iltarel nodded to all that.

“ _Love_ is important,” he told Tilayan.

“It doesn’t seem like Glain is going to enjoin out of love.”

“That’s his prerogative and what he gets for ...being disorderly,” the albino was still uneasy with the topic. “I hope for a romantic enjoinment and a spouse with whom I will have a connection and healthy children,” he shared his own perspective. “Moreover, enjoinment binds families together. I do not think my family would appreciate me enjoining Her Kel, as she has no status. For now at least.”

“I don’t think Glain can help it,” Elem pointed out and reached for a piece of leftover bread left on Kilem’s plate, “and he still deserves happiness. He’s a very sweet person. And you’re right,” he added and sighed, “not only do I not have any status, I’m also half-Betazoid, and I _don’t_ think that it makes me attractive.”

“Betazoid?” Iltarel repeated, cogs spinning fast in his mind.

“They have black eyes and psychic abilities of feeling other people’s emotions or making them feel emotions, and can also be telepathic,” Tilayan summed up. “They are mostly harmless as a society, but with such powers they could probably cause a lot of chaos.”

“Those would be interesting abilities to acquire in our gene pool,” Iltarel agreed and turned back to Elem. “If you had been a man and into law, you could have made an amazing interrogator or Conservator. Maybe you should find a husband in such fields of work so your offspring might get the best from both worlds,” he suggested. “In this regard, your mixed heritage could be very appealing to someone with ambitions for their future children. However, I do have a question. If His Rokat took you as his protégée, I suppose he must be quite fond of you… because you must be the child of Ywanna Kel, the alien who wrote a book on him and our justice system. Given your level of masculinity, you would have been a perfect match for Glain, and if the two of you were gifted with a male child, he could become the supreme Conservator which Rokat wished Glain would become,” he observed Elem with attention and the others two as well. “His Rokat had the kindness to welcome two orphans in his family, children without a status… Would he refuse that his son would enjoin a gifted person like you?”

He softened a little and smiled.

“No, of course, he wouldn’t stand in the way of love, I am certain. But there is no such love, and you wish for more,” he almost smirked. “I believe I should leave,” he said and got up. “Your Elem Kel, it has been a pleasure to meet you and I sincerely hope you will find a loving husband who shall appreciate your uniqueness. High master Keelani Dera’an,” he turned to the housekeeper, “you are getting more and more disorderly day by day,” he flattered her. “You look radiant however. I haven’t seen Constable, but I hope you’ll pet him on my behalf. And tell Glain Rokat that he is _sloppy_. And you, Tilayan Rokat,” he looked at the girl, “You talk too much. But I quite like you. Do not become like your brother.”

He paid everybody a warmer smile and stepped back, “I know where the door is...” he pointed in that direction. Nall had shown him several times.

Elem gulped a little – he was very perceptive, that Iltarel. Uncomfortably so. He could difficultly tell whether he trusted him or not, but opted towards the latter, since he didn’t know him. All the more reason to find out _exactly_ what he knew.

“If you have the time, might we take a walk and _talk_ a bit?” he followed him.

“It would be my pleasure,” he agreed after a second of observation, and led the way out.

He walked the both of them in silence until they reached a spot on a small balcony plaza where he knew surveillance was lower. There were no benches so he just laid against the railing, letting Elem look at the city spreading as far as eye could see – it somehow appeared entirely organic, while still clearly manmade. The architecture was in perfect synchronization with the people it held, and the planet it throned on, and the glowing red sunset painted a perfect picture of calm. Meanwhile, he looked at her, still detailing her physique, even more so now that they were closer. She did have some common features with Nall, moreso even than Glain who had taken more from his mother’s side. Iltarel’s suspicions were increasing.

“Ywanna Kel is indeed my mother,” Elem figured he’d start off telling, “and she _did_ write such a book. When she realized she had to let me go, it was only natural for her to put me in contact with people she knew and approved of,” he looked sidewise at Iltarel – he looked almost like a marble statue; that was how perfectly still he was. “Glain found exactly what he was looking for on Bajor. He wants to get in contact with Gul Dukat, but his father forbids it. I wish someone could talk sense into him,” he looked back over the city. “Reyal is his enemy, is he not? I don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to get rid of him, unless there’s yet another level to the intrigue that I can’t see.”

“His Rokat is right in that Reyal doesn’t have a lot to oppose, and Gul Dukat wouldn’t be too pleased to have to testify against a fellow military for the benefice of a civilian. It’s a tedious situation,” Iltarel sighed. “Rokat is a wise and cautious man with a respectable position, and Glain is a sharp and ambitious young man in a more delicate position now. When I first knew him, I hated him instantly,” he told without shame nor much emotion. “I arranged to have him persecuted, so he would know his place, and this did him good. He showed he wasn’t so weak after all, and grew stronger and more capable to defend himself. He proved to be enduring, resilient, determined and malicious,” the corners of his lips curled upward a little and his gaze turned fonder. “I’ve always helped him but the timing is now unfortunate and I do not wish to be dragged along the fall if he slips,” he said, though something shifted in his eyes. “I sincerely wish we don’t come to this, of course. Now… your presence could make for an interesting diversion to confuse Reyal, but it would be unfair to involve you in such plots.”

Elem wasn’t sure he’d pin Iltarel as someone who cared much for what was fair.

“Are you always so blatant when fishing for personal details?” he asked instead, turning around to watch him the same way he’d watched the city, “If you’re worried the conflict between the Rokat and Reyal families will stain your sheets, staying away is the surest way.”

“I believe you wanted to talk,” he answered in a more hushed voice. “Was it only to warn me so kindly?”

“No,” Elem tapped his fingers against the railing and looked over the city, “I wanted _you_ to talk. And you have.”

A bit of blush flushed on the clerk’s cheeks and neck, a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Are you always offensive like this?” he asked, parted between his feelings and a bit of appreciation.

“Only when I’m curious,” Elem answered casually and looked back at him, amused and fascinated by the coloration brought to his skin by his rather poorly hidden feelings. “You care about Glain, he’s your friend. But friends make the most deadly enemies once the tide turns, and you just told me it might. Now, what conclusions do you _want_ me to draw from that, Mister Jarad?”

“Maybe the conclusions weren’t for you to draw in the first place, Your Kel,” he replied. “Your point is still valid nonetheless. You care about Glain and the Rokat family too. Is it because your heart is soft from Federation and Betazoid conceptions?” he softened a little himself. “Are you going to care for me too?”

“I do not keep _friends_ ,” Elem snorted, “and I do not expect others do, either.”

“If you do not keep friends, then what is Glain to you?” Iltarel crooked a smile.

“An opportunity,” Elem answered, though his cheeks had heated up at the question – he’d underestimated the other’s ability to trick him in an awkward place. “It might have escaped your awareness, but I don’t have any ties to Cardassia other than through my mother. I _need_ someplace to stay until I can support myself. The only other option is loneliness, and I don’t doubt it’s just as grand a weakness here as it is in the Federation.”

“This is wise,” Iltarel nodded. “For your sake, it might be preferable that you soon find another place to stay. One that would be more neutral and less connected to the Rokat family. _Don’t wait for the taspar egg to take life before you eat it_ ,” he quoted the idiom. “Of course, there’s always a chance for the tides to be favorable to them, but living on wishful belief isn’t better than living in loneliness. In the end, they might just be the same.

Elem looked away into the sunset for a moment. Tiny specs were glimpsing through a cloudy veil, and in the distance, a darker shade of indigo had started an invasion of the sky. He decided to ask Iltarel what he thought would happen concerning Reyal, and the young man explained that opposing sides would have to gather their allies, pull strings and levers, gather intelligence, plant evidence… Rumors would be spread and claims would be laid. Elem could quite see that the fight had already begun, seeing how Iltarel probed for information – somehow, he knew that men from Dukat had knocked at Nall’s door, had already made the connection with Terok Nor, and Elem had to slip out that Glain had gotten abusively detained there.

“This is already so much more complicated than it should have been, and I’m not really much helpful,” Elem let out a suffering sound.

“You wish,” Iltarel denied and looked back at the city. “It’s beautiful isn’t it? I’ve lived here all my life, but I never grow tired of those sights. I know people living in most every part of this city,” he straightened up. “And I know even more people scattered in other cities, other worlds too. I travel a lot for my job, I meet a lot of persons… If you need help to take distance from the Rokats, there are some persons who owe me favors…”

“I will not run,” Elem threw him a quick glance, “it took me too long to get here, and now… I’m almost thirty, and my body will be transformed into that of a fertile woman – I won’t get any interesting assignment, no important role… all I’ll be tasked with is to bring children into the world, and maybe the dubious luxury of working some harmless enough job that it’s not even challenging.”

“Not all engineering women get the chance to keep on working of course… but if all the fertile ones had to stop completely after they are with child, the military would run out of innovation in no time… It’s not like those women don’t know on which side is the head of the rifles they design themselves.”

“I’m a ship’s engineer,” Elem muttered through his teeth, unleashing his opinion and feelings some more.

He didn’t miss his previous job, but was it too arrogant of him to be bitter when so much potential was going to waste!? Iltarel said nothing, just tapping the railing with his fingers a little.

“If you don’t want yamok sauce along the san’tak, that’s your prerogative, Your Kel –” she didn’t understand the idiom, so he had to explain – “Have you ever tasted yamok sauce?” he asked, starting to lead the both of them back to the house, then continued, “San’tak is a root known to be extremely bitter and spicy. It’s not unusual for it to make your eyes cry if you don’t have something sweeter to eat along,” he let the other guess the meaning of the idiom. “It was uncalled for or me to say this to you,” he apologized. “I suppose I have my own share of san’tak to take down. You may not feel so proud of your previous occupation, but at least you had it, and you’re a woman. As such, you are a lot closer to an engineering position than I am.”

Elem felt a little bit sorry for him when he explained the reason behind his odd career parkour as they made their way back to the house. There, Nall opened, spotted Elem first and looked happy, then saw Iltarel, and faded a bit into annoyance.

“I thought you went home,” he pointed out as he let Elem step inside. “Glain doesn’t deserve any visitors, least of all those whose company he enjoys,” he thinned his lips. “You should tell that to the rest of his friends, lest they come hanging around uselessly as well.”

“I’ll… do that, then,” Iltarel stood there a bit uselessly. “I… If it isn’t too presumptuous of me, may I call upon your kindness of heart and ask you to tell him on my behalf that my uncle Teval is with child? I mean, not _him_ , but. His wife,” he flushed a little.

“Oh,” Nall blinked a couple of times, then leaned against the door frame, another expression entirely entering his face. “Perhaps you’d care to come in for a cup of tea before you headed back home?”

For all the grudge he had since Iltarel threw away the career _Nall_ had helped him into, the young man still called his fondness and they settled in the kitchen, where Elem and Kilem were playing _phaser, forcefield, hacker._ The game didn’t last much longer however as they went to bed while the Conservator heated water in a pot.

“I’m sorry to come with such news,” Iltarel massaged his temples. “I know we must rejoice but. I thought they were both infertile. This pregnancy comes out of nowhere and the baby has been holding in her womb for _over two months_ already,” he told, letting through some concern. “He told me he didn’t want to tell me earlier in case the egg had detached and gone, but I know he’s just as terrified and conflicted as I am…” he flushed in embarrassment. “And now _Glain_ had to be unruly again,” he sympathized to Nall. “And there is Elem… and ...how is your wife, Your Rokat?” he asked more carefully.

“I have to take my responsibility soon, and let her go… Cardassia knows I should’ve done so sooner,” the frail old man said and added the fragrant red leaves in the pot, waiting for the water to still, then entered the spices and sweet root in too – he was very grateful to have these things to occupy his mind with as this topic came up. Still, he went onto sharing the recent twist.

“She tried to kill me,” he told as he got two round, brown mugs from a cupboard and set them on the counter. “In her defense, it must have been like waking up in bed with a stranger who has done the-Order-knows-what to you. That’s when I decided... but then I couldn’t get in contact with Glain. And the following days, she was back to normal, and now I’m not so sure it’s her time yet – it doesn’t feel right to do it, anymore. I wish he would’ve been here, then she would’ve been sleeping now.

“I’ve always had the most respectful and tender feelings for your wife. When she still recognized me, I remember thinking it was comforting that she still had those memories of me, but it soon felt like observing her through a forcefield… I wished we could be on the same side, but she couldn’t join us back in the present. I still find it difficult to make up my mind about which of you or Glain is right. But I believe you’ve finally made your decision, Your Rokat. You’ve just said it yourself. You wish she would be sleeping now…” he said softly, emotion transpiring in the wetness of his eyes. “Maybe it is for the best that her condition stabilized enough that she recognizes you again, so _she_ may pay you farewell, rather than leave this world lost and scared by strangers around her.”

Nall thought about it but decided not to further the topic.

“And so, your uncle is going to become a father,” he switched the subject for one that was less uncomfortable – Iltarel wasn’t a trash bin for negative emotions, after all. “I imagine you must feel a certain degree of... dread? Considering the two of you are so close. A child changes _everything,_ after all. I should know, I have four now,” he froze a bit and blinked in horror, “Three, I mean three.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t hope to hold the honor of counting as the fourth one,” Iltarel bounced on, a bit nervously – a cover up Nall appreciated. “I feel… betrayed and terrified,” he confessed. “I’m horrified with myself… With those feelings… Those hopes that maybe the child will die,” he shook his head in disbelief. “It’s so wrong… I don’t recognize myself in this. I’m not this sort of person, am I?”

“Clearly you are,” Nall reckoned, “but those _are_ just feelings. Understandable feelings,” he tried the tea – too hot. “Now you’re afraid you’ll lose that connection. And like any good Cardassian, you’re looking for a way to save your sense of family. The child dying would do this for you. But of course, you’d never go any further than to harbour these feelings,” he smiled a bit and set the cup down again. “You’re not a criminal, Iltarel Jarad, just an anxious young man who is terrified of losing his father figure. I imagine your uncle might have similar feelings of distraught – such bonds go two ways. Say, you wouldn’t want to come stay here for awhile, just to put some distance to the situation? It might help alleviate the anxiety, though, perhaps you’d rather bunk-bed with Glain at Keelani’s place – she’s got a lot of guestrooms too; it’s what happens when your daughter marries into a military family,” he shook his head. “I was very proud that day – she wasn’t my daughter but, still, the daughter of _my_ housekeeper, marrying into the Rusot family!” He realized he’d derailed like an old man and patted Iltarel’s arm, “You’re a sweet young man, even though sometimes you’re not.”

“Those are very meaningful words,” Iltarel flushed a little and tried to drink from his cup in a reflex to hide his face a bit. He burnt his tongue as a result but took the pain in without complaining. “I think I’ll accept your kind proposition, Your Rokat, even if I feel undeserving of it. If there is something I learned from Naker and you, it is that it matters not whether we deserve a chance or not before we take it; what matters is the after.”

 

When the young man entered the room he was to share with Glain, the archivist was very suddenly blinded by the light being suddenly turned on, which caused him to wince with a cry of pain.

“Oh, it’s you –” his friend dimmed the light immediately – “I thought you had left…”

Iltarel mumbled while picking his hypospray to administer his shot for the night before starting to undress.

“I did, and I came back. Your father offered me to stay for some days.”

“He did that?” Glain stared at him in disbelief. Then he put one and one together. “Oh, you told him about your uncle… Keelani told me,” he slipped. “You do look like you could use some comfort, my poor friend… Come here,” he moved to make some space for the other, not getting his eyes off of the other’s strong and athletic body.

It seemed like his muscles had developed some more since last time they saw each other unclothed.

“You’ve done a lot of musculation lately, haven’t you?”

“That’s my concern,” Iltarel slipped himself under the sheets, next to Glain, and rested on his elbow a bit to look at him from above.

The younger of the two let his eyes trail down the pale torso and up the strong neck. Too bad, really, that Iltarel wasn’t sorted as woman, he thought. Then he just grabbed him and dragged him closer.

“You’re too far, luzzur,” he hugged him.

The albino let out a small sound of half-protest but shrouded him with his arms anyway and indulged in the embrace. It was soft and warm. Glain tried to pass a leg over his friend’s hips to be closer even, but Iltarel slapped his lap over the blanket. The archivist retracted, only to try again, more sneakily, as he always did when blunt approaches were rejected. His elder didn’t want to fight and just hugged him tighter instead, sighing a scolding sigh, “ _Luzzur…_ ”

That Glain wasn’t born female truly was a pity, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you been wondering about the odd usage of possessive pronouns – Your/His/Her – as titles for people's names? Don't worry, you'll get used to it. If you really wonder why we're doing this, you can ask away ;)


	2. I - An alien on Cardassia

##  An alien in Cardassia

Notator Arkeny Kovat had lived through the most stressful day of his life. He and Kelar – his assistant – were squabbling over their personal theories and researches when Sayad had burst out of the office she shared with Dain.

“You  _ cannot _ say this! Geram Bevran  _ is _ the most talented actor of  _ all _ Cardassia!” she’d shouted at her assistant.

Next thing Kovat knew, she’d stripped Dain of his assignment and tossed it at him instead. The young Notator blinked in confusion – he was getting a  _ real alien? _ Then he’d gathered himself and gone over to the medical cabinet with Kelar. She was most helpful in preparing everything; he was nervous, and when the alien was brought in, he had to screw up again and again. He gave the Vulcan-Trill a dosage of anesthetics fit for a Cardassian, causing him to nearly lose consciousness and ease into a half-drunken state. After the tooth extraction, Kovat worried when the alien went over how his blood was blue, wondering if he’d somehow caused some brain damage, until the man explained he was colorblind without his glasses. The Notator was so sorry. Not sorry enough that he thought of healing the wound however, and he only thought of it when the alien doctor sheepishly asked if he could  _ yewz dools hoo kleen da ound _ .

“Oh, the wound – I- I’m sorry again; Kelar, would you be as kind as to- thank you,” he took the tool she handed him and stuck it gently into the Vulcan’s mouth, “I mostly work on fungus and bugs,” he said, as if that was supposed to be a calming fact. “We get real aliens so very rarely, and I didn’t really expect anything like this today. I was in the middle of- it doesn’t matter to you of course…”

At least, the alien was very cooperative and kindly accepted Kovat’s offer to host him (not that Timun was in any condition to refuse while being high on anesthetics). The Notator was starting to relax when the alien said he had something he’d been asked to deliver, and gave him a requisition code. Unsuspecting yet, Kovat entered it in the computer, then paled.  _ Why _ did this have to happen to  _ him? _

Ten minutes later, a woman in dark grey uniform came in the room. Mid-forties, with a strict hairstyle, she paid Timun a scrutinizing look and inquired about the content of the cases he was presenting her with.

“Ah, it’s a  _ starving fisherman _ in this one, and don’t ask me what that means because I’ve no idea,” the alien doctor answered fluidly. “It comes from Garak, the tailor on Deep Space Nine. And then that one contains DNA from some Trill person who doesn’t exist in any database. That’s all I know, really. I hope that helps in… whatever you’re going to do with that, really.”

Kovat was  _ livid _ . Clearly, the alien didn’t have  _ any idea  _ of  _ who _ he was talking to. Thankfully, the woman from the Obsidian Order just took the delivery and left, and so the Notator could stop clinging intently to his computer, exhale and relax. Then Timun Lykes asked if he could put his clothes back on and Kovat blushed in indignation at himself as he realized the doctor had stood naked all through his short interview with the Order agent.

“Uh, yes, put them on, I forgot about that,” Kovat apologized – he was really hecking up today, wasn’t he? And it wasn’t even past lunch. Not that lunch time made things any better. It came fast and Arkeny thought he’d try to make himself agreeable, maybe.

“Perhaps you’d care to join us for lunch?” he proposed to the alien. “Kelar and myself were thinking of going to the Ba’aten restaurant, and I don’t think she’d mind – would you mind?” he looked at her, realizing he could have just asked her.

“Not particularly, though I am not sure Ba’aten cuisine is a very ideal choice for someone’s  _ first _ encounter with Cardassian food,” she answered as she ticked some things off on a list on her small display. “It’s very spicy,” she added with a look to the Vulcan-Trill, “And it has a lot of fish and fruit, all of it very... spicy. And a bit sweet.”

“And their fishjuice is legendary,” Kovat dreamed himself away a little, as if he were almost there, or revisiting a past moment.

“I can handle spices,” Timun said cautiously, “but it’s true I haven’t tasted spicy Cardassian food so far. Still, if it’s on the level of spicy Bajoran food, I guess I should handle it well enough. ...I hope mentioning Bajoran food isn’t an offense…?” he added hesitantly.

“I know nothing of Bajoran food,” Kovat flatly answered. “I hear Bajorans are savage and violent, like the Klingons – is that true?” he asked with a bit of concern.

And this was when Kovat should have stopped trying to talk to the Vulcan-Trill. The alien answered with a flow of blasphemy that never seemed to end, going from how Bajoran must be edgy because they’d been treated like animals, to their current government being weak, and then, and then… starting to quote rules of ...acquisition??

“...I’ve really wondered if the Union happened to be fond of the rule 34:  _ War is good for business _ ,” Timun Lykes rambled, “because it’s so focused on the military that if you had simply been doing business with the Bajorans,  _ buying _ and  _ selling _ products that each nation could provide to the other with mutual benefit… maybe a lot of those Cardassian militaries would have turned up jobless without all this warfare to wage, soldiers dying, entire ships sabotaged and blown up with their crews… It’s always hard to figure out what situation would have been most profitable in this kind of setting, but maybe future will tell, if diplomatic relationships ever improve to let us know!  _ Peace is good for business _ , after all – rule number 35.”

The more the alien went on, the paler Kovat got, staring at him in horror, utterly relieved when the speech was over as the man  _ finally _ seemed to notice he’d stepped out of the line.

“You must never speak such heresy ever again!” he warned him in a hushed but somehow shrill voice, “The Military is not here to wage war, they are here to  _ protect _ the rest of us from war – they stand on the front line so we won’t have to. Their sacrifice is holy and their devotion to Cardassia is pure, and the rest of us  _ must _ honor them by faithful service to the State – to speak such words as you have just done, it- it- it’s very wrong, and I suggest you wipe such infidelity from your mind this instant. This is  _ Cardassia _ , not some backwards Federal world where you don’t care to pay respects to those who grant you safety.” He cleared his throat a bit then lifted his PADD and looked at it idly, still nervous and a bit sick to the stomach.

Timun looked at him with equally rounded eyes and his mouth forming a O.

“Of course! That makes perfect sense! Thank you so much, Doctor, this is  _ exactly _ the sort of insight I came seeking for!” he beamed positively. “I do apologize if my alien perspective sounded so blasphemous,” he bowed respectfully.

Kovat cleared his throat again a bit but decided to leave it at that and leave altogether, to the restaurant.

“I’ve decided not to accompany you,” Kelar announced.

“And why is that? I really must insist, you need food,” Kovat looked at her while she didn’t stray her eyes from her PADD.

“I’ll eat something else – I’m in such a  _ stable state _ , Kovat,” she explained enthusiastically, “If I take a pause now, it might take weeks to get back to this point – and if that means I’ll have to miss lunch, I don’t consider that a huge sacrifice.”

She jotted something down with her pen, and Kovat sighed and shook his head.

“I’ll bring you a bowl-meal, then,” he promised her as he went for the door. “Anyway, let’s go, I guess – ah, no, wait, I need outdoors shoes,” he muttered and went to a wardrobe, changing his attire with another pair of shoes, and a light grey jacket.

“The collar is bent,” Kelar told him, though it was a mystery to him how she knew, because she hadn’t even looked at him.

“Oh, you’re right,” he noted as he looked down over himself, and corrected the collar. “Now we can go.”

The Vulcan-Trill nodded sheepishly and followed him out, trying to find which distance to maintain between them both to keep respectful.

“If it’s not too impolite and intrusive to ask,” he whispered to Kovat as they walked out of the building, “are the two of you…” he rolled his hands as to suggest the rest, “You know…”

“Colleagues? Yes,” Kovat answered shortly and then greeted a pudgy old man as they passed him.

“What is that?” asked the man, and he started hankering after them, even though he’d previously headed in the opposite direction.

“An alien,” Kovat answered factually.

“Where are you taking him? Perhaps you need my help.”

“Just heading out for lunch –” the old man stopped in his tracks with a look of disbelief, so Kovat stopped too, smiling at him. “Aliens need to eat, too.”

“I just wish they wouldn’t eat  _ our _ food,” the other crossed his arms over his chest and sized up the weird creature. “I don’t suppose you’re here to mine dilithium? At least then you’d be useful…”

Timun almost seemed sorry to disappoint.

“He’s a doctor,” Kovat told with fascination, “Can you imagine the insight he has in other aliens? There’s a  _ lot _ for me to learn from someone like him – so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m going to invest in him and buy him lunch.”

The old man still seemed to disagree, but decided to just grunt and continue with his business.

“I don’t exactly blame him,” Kovat told, “He grew up an orphan; I suppose his parents might have died from disease, or committed a crime or another; death penalty you know… Men like him, who know the starvation our own people suffer due to unfortunate situations like these, they don’t tend to be very fond of aliens, least of all the ones who use our resources, when they  _ should  _ be funneled toward the children. But then, if the State provided for those children, they wouldn’t be as important a symbolism for what happens to those who selfishly commit crimes and end up harming their family as a result.”

At that, the alien doctor told of war orphans on Bajor, telling of the conditions they lived in. Kovat couldn’t see much anything bad about it, really. Anyway, such children were the offspring of reckless men who had chosen to endanger their families by bringing them to a dangerous place. It was but natural selection, elimination of those with poor instinct for natural preservation.

As they neared the restaurant, the air became heavy with the prickly scent of kokkora spices, fried fish and soup. They entered the establishment, which was pompous – the ceiling was high, the windows overlooking the other side were towering, and a screen ornamented the middle of the wall, overlooking the tables below. Kovat chose to place them near one of the windows with an open sight over the streets and buildings on the lower level below – the sky had gotten a bit darker and golden, and the colors reflected in the buildings

“But Doctor, why not simply bring them back and neuter them, then?” Lykes asked of the Bajor orphans as they sat. “I can understand that they would be unfit for reproduction due to their risk-taking heritage, but they may still grow up to serve Cardassia like your colleague we crossed just before,” he argued. “Of course, it  _ is _ extremely stigmatizing,” he reckoned, “but if your argument about reproduction is correct, why half-do the thing when some of those children can still be adopted, come back  _ and _ reproduce after all?”

“Since the Bajorans treat them so well, why would we want to rob them of that luxury, just to bring them to a largely barren world? Why have them eat  _ our _ food, when the Bajorans are so willing to share theirs?” Kovat answered with diplomacy. “No, doctor. Things are much better like this, for  _ all  _ of us. And if they grow up to be angry at us, well, that’s a phase and it’ll pass – they’ll understand why, once someone qualified may show them why things are this way. And they’ll forgive Cardassia, if they ever blamed her. I am confident of it.”

As the waitress approached with great diligence, he placed an order for three servings of the daily special (one takeaway, one standard and one with extra yamok sauce for himself) and fishjuice,  _ of course _ .

He cared to warn Timun however – “Be weary of her,” he glimpsed at the waitress, “she knows all the gossip,” he told in confidence, “and she’s smart too. Won’t work here for a long time; I’m pretty sure she’ll find herself a suitable husband very soon, with an intellect like that.”

The Vulcan-Trill seemed to get the hint but that didn’t seem to be enough to put an end to his daring words.

“For people who are  _ so _ secretive about your biology, I do find it quite strange that you’d leave living samples of your species for anyone to ‘adopt’ and examine. Bajorans have already started to make medical studies,” he told. “Oh, well, for now they’re puzzled as to why adults were either male or female while a number of children are intersexed, and they hypothesized that something about Bajor might have induced mutations,” he shared. “That’s probably because they want to prove that the Occupation was a terrible idea and Cardassians should never have come,  _ but _ , give them some more years and they’ll figure better.”

“I have no idea what you’re implying, Doctor,” Kovat answered cheerily, and then cheered even more as a basket of small, round breads was placed at the center of the table – he took one for himself, and bit into it. “Bread-baked taspar: one of my favourite appetizers,” he appreciated happily, lifting the bread to the waitress who was already on her way back to the kitchen. Then he leaned closer to his alien friend, “You have a big mouth. It is fortunate for you that I have very small ears,” he tocked the side of his skull a little. “But you really need to hurry up with adjusting your language to match that of Cardassia. She’s not as patient as I am; she demands respect. If you can’t learn that lesson, you will have doomed yourself. Stupidity doesn’t live long on Cardassia.”

But Timun Lykes  _ was _ stupid, wasn’t he? Kovat did his best to maintain the happy and gleeful mask behind which he constantly hid his fear of being whisked away by the Order at any moment, for any reason – including no reason at all. In front of him, the alien rambled through a concerning tale involving a Cardassian patient constantly on the edge of death, his medical studies and homeworld, ships, phaser fire, Maquis, ‘ _ parkourdunk _ ’ and some kind of insomnia problem among his species.

“By the way, I’m sorry if I’m shaking a bit,” he said as two bowls of fish-and-bird soup were placed in front of them, “I haven’t been able to practice sport for several days and that attack triggered my survival instincts a bit, which makes me extra-energized.”

“I imagine your world would be reap for harvest if we ever came there,” Kovat nodded with humour, “No military, but all that knowledge? Consider yourself a target,” he dipped his porcelain spoon in his soup. “Are you truly telling me that you’re  _ both _ a neurologist  _ and _ a physical therapist? That’s almost as ambitious as a Cardassian could get – I’m an exobiologist. I simply  _ adore _ alien biology, especially medical research. My assistant and myself are fighting for the title of head of research team. Hopefully we’ll be able to conduct field studies on aliens, pertaining to the life cycle of a carnivorous fungus we’ve studied for years.  _ I _ , of course, will win; there’s no way the fungus could survive for any extended period if the subject it grows on is alive and well.”

His guest didn’t seem to approve of the procedure very much.

“How else would you do it?” Kovat quipped with a headshake. “That’s how the best of us work – just look at Our Crell Moset, for instance. He cured that awful plague on Bajor, and he wouldn’t have been able to drive that disease to extinction if he hadn’t had live subjects to study. In the grand scheme of things, that has already saved more lives than its victory claimed.”

At  _ least _ , the other knew of Crell Moset’s brilliance and seemed to respect it and they could finally chit-chat a little over their meal. Until the Vulcan started to make an innuendo about Doctor Moset and that half-Cardassian  _ patient _ of his. Once more, Kovat was the manifestation of disdain; woe was him, to be forced to listen to this alien’s more shady words! Still, the last part came out flattering.

“You seem to know so much about him, it’s almost to believe you know him personally!” Timun remarked with amusement and fascination.

“I’m merely a humble servant of the State, nowhere near important enough to keep any personal or professional contact with him,” Kovat shook his head briskly, a slight tint rising on his cheeks. “The closest I ever got was to attend some of his seminars with colleagues –” he’d  _ never _ forget that one time when  _ Dain _ had the audacity to ask a question while they were seated next to each other! – “B-but I never really thought myself to have the right to talk to him, and anyway, I am not sure what I’d say. I’m sure he’d find my words of praise to be rather lame and distasteful. After all, for such a man, success itself is the greatest praise, and everything else is infinitely lesser.”

“Oh, you never know what the gods truly feel,” Timun waved his spoon before driving it to his mouth. “Uh, it’s an idiom from my world,” he clarified. “Though we don’t have any religion per say, even if some of us are a bit excessive in their wording when referring to symbionts. What I mean is that people aren’t always what they seem to be, and even if they are famous, they might still enjoy being treated like ...people,” he suggested.

“I have to say that I’m glad we’re both doctors, because I’m developing serious concerns for my mental health,” Kovat commented in a squished and uneasy voice. “You  _ can’t  _ talk about religion, it’s  _ forbidden _ , and even though my ears are small, I could still get in trouble for overhearing words on such an  _ outrageous topic _ .” He put the spoon powerfully and meaningfully in his bowl, “I do not want troubles, Your Lykes, so please don’t plague me with these abhorrent words of yours. I’ll let you know that I have a very orderly life and am a very orderly person, and that if you know what’s good for you, you’ll conform to the same neatness as myself. Now, I’m glad you enjoy the soup, but please, eat it mindfully.”

Timun bit his lips.

“I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he apologized for what felt like the hundredth time already. “Really sorry. We’re not savages, I insist, and I think that in practice, we have a similar ban on our world,” he said in a lower voice. “But as an exobiologist, have you ever heard of our symbionts?” he diverted the topic and Kovat welcomed it. At least, it was interesting. Very clever of those Trills to exploit those lifeforms to further the development of their society, he had to reckon.

As they finished their meal and were brought a cup of fishjuice each, Timun chose to ask about music and was disappointed to learn that Kovat found sound to be a distraction.

“I  _ hope _ you didn’t bring anything outlandish,” the Notator warned. “From what I have been told, aliens often use culture as a means to disrespect their governing power, which isn’t so surprising, considering the inferiority of your systems. Here, however, such media would be strictly illegal, as it is not necessary to express discontentment: there  _ is _ no discontentment. The only ones who are discontent, are those who aren’t capable of functioning with the rest of us, those who integrate themselves poorly into society. But they are to be pitied – there are trials, every now and then. I always feel rather bad for them; it can’t be very pleasant to be so  _ whiny _ about everything. I consider their sentences to be a mercy bestowed on their tormented souls – I do assure you, Doctor, you will find that there’s no need for... whatever music you might be used to, not in Cardassia. And really, why dwell in misery when you can simply live and breathe positivity?” he smiled pleasantly with the last part, forming an entirely soft impression.

Timun smiled along, eventually letting out a small ‘ _ aww _ ’.

“You are  _ so _ proper, Mister- I mean,  _ Your _ Kovat,” he cooed. “I would love to listen to Cardassian music. I think there would be so much for me to learn from it on an instinctual level. I suppose I function differently from you in that I find that distractions paradoxically help me to focus – my mind and body are in such constant needs of stimulation that if I don’t provide them with something controlled to feed on, they will try to occupy themselves with something that may be truly distracting and detrimental to my work, leaving me no choice but to lock my emotions and run solely on logic. Doing so takes effort, which allows me to focus, but it may also deactivate some instincts, which can be a problem as well for me to work more efficiently. I like to listen industrial and electronic music because they easily enhance my mental state as they feed my emotions and trigger physical reactions,” he explained. Then added, “I’m half-Vulcan but my mother has been teaching me to express my emotions instead of repressing them. Unfortunately I am alexithymic – it’s to say, I am impaired when it comes to identifying emotions clearly, which renders their management complicated. I often have to rely on observation of physical symptoms in order to analyze and become more aware of my emotional state. Right now, I would think I’m extremely happy and joyful, but the way I shake my leg and flail indicates to me that I am in a significant state of nervosity and under great stress. It could even be that I’m actually terrified on some internal level, but I’m providing you with my most pleasant self in a basic defense mechanism and attempt to deactivate what my brain might interpret as a conflictual situation. Except that you aren’t the source of the tension, so it’s not going to work,” he grinned and chuckled. “I love my brain but I also hate it  _ so much _ , Doctor.”

That was disturbing.

“That sounds like some sort of mental disease. I’ve heard of similar things occurring in my own species, but we always find ways around it. Cardassia strives to find the good in  _ all _ individual citizens; if you can have a use, she’ll find it and hone it, despite the rest of your flaws. So one must always be humble,” Kovat smiled meaningfully and then jolted a bit as the waitress arrived with the takeaway meal. “Ah, thank you. Where was I... oh yes. Flaws. Many of us have flaws, more or less detrimental – no I don’t think she’d like milk with that, thank you – most of us can serve Cardassia regardless. Those who don’t, are either cared for by their family or by the State.  _ Everyone _ has a function, even if it’s just something as seemingly unimportant as being psychologically present for the rest of your family,” he nodded sagely. “That is another reason why we couldn’t simply  _ kill _ all those orphans left on Bajor. We’re not barbarians, Doctor. We’re a highly social species, we care deeply for our own. We don’t kill our own,” he said meaningfully – and that was when Timun understood why the Cardassian word for ‘criminal’ literally meant ‘no longer a person’ – “If we did, our society would fall apart in an instant,  _ trust _ would be damaged to the point where it couldn’t be redeemed. Therefore Cardassia always smiles at you, she’s the light that forgives and nurtures. We should all strive to be a reflection of her, to do our best, to be humble, submissive and bring joy and comfort to those around us,” he nodded sagely to himself.

“Ah, and that is  _ such _ a relief to me,” Timun smiled sweetly, ready to follow him back to work – “Thank you  _ so much _ for the meal,” he slipped in before they left.

Kovat couldn’t wait to return to the sanctity of his office, where things were more simple and work was pleasant. He had many vivariums filled with all sorts of bugs he collected there, and they were a constant source of inspiration and relaxation.

“Do you live with your parents?” the Vulcan-Trill asked suddenly as they neared the Bureau of Alien Affairs.

“Ah, no, my family lives on Tevak. I was lucky enough to get a position on Cardassia Prime, and they were very supportive of me when I had to move.  _ I _ live alone in a flat in the Paldar Sector – not so grand, perhaps, but I don’t have a wife or children, so I don’t  _ need _ grand.”

They crossed into the courtyard, where they found Kelar basking in the dim sunlight, writing her essay while seated at one of the tables. With nothing better to do, Kovat set her meal on the table and then seated himself. She looked pointedly at him.

“I didn’t invite you to sit, and you’re in the way.”

He shuffled to the side, then some more, and when she still wasn’t satisfied, he got up and awkwardly brushed some dust off his pants.

“Have a nice meal break, then –” she looked up at him again, more crankily this time – “I’m leaving,” he reassured her, then hurried away, shaking his head a little to himself.

“She’s very intelligent, but very introvert,” he explained to Timun. “She finds people to be a distraction, and I’m people – oh,” he smacked himself across the forehead, “I should’ve dropped you off at my flat instead of dragging you back to my office; there’s nothing for you to do here, and I imagine you need sleep – I’m so sorry. This isn’t my best day, please don’t judge me.”

“Doctor, I really do  _ not _ need sleep,” Timun insisted. “I find it hard to sleep more than three to five hours per night on a daily basis. I usually don’t sleep at all for three or five days. I’m  _ half-Vulcan _ , and  _ very _ Vulcan in that aspect. We can stay two weeks without sleeping at all! If I should be honest, I would be very delighted to know if there is a place where I could practice some more intense physical exercise and then have a shower. It would be highly relieving…”

“It would be better that you didn’t,” was the answer to that, plain and simple.

As they went to Kovat’s office, they met a rather athletic, middle-aged man, whose fine but strong features were pulled together in a concerned expression.

“Arkeny, I need to talk to you,” he said the instant the Notator was within earshot, “alone,” he added with a surly expression toward the alien.

“Nnnnnn... yes of course,” Kovat smiled a bit, and then they went further away, leaving the Vulcan to stand uselessly while waiting, not realizing that two meters weren’t enough to be out of earshot from him.

“I was told you took one of your patients out for lunch,” nagged Torain Damar. “If you could tell me it’s not true, I’d be  _ very _ glad to hear it.”

Kovat blushed a bit and cowered against the wall.

“He’s not my patient; he’s an alien,” he tried to justify, at which the other pinched the ridge of his nose and groaned a bit.

“That doesn’t make it better, Arkeny…” it was obvious he was trying to repress a really bad mood.

“It doesn’t?” worried Kovat.

“At least your assistant had enough presence of mind to  _ decline  _ being seen in public with someone so... outrageous,” Damar glared in the alien’s direction. “I’ve had to place a reprimand on your account, and I suspect your superior won’t be very understanding. But at least I’ve warned you – and Arkeny,” Damar coughed a bit and rubbed his chest, “ _ please _ try to be more polite to Kelar in the future. You can’t invite others –  _ especially aliens  _ – to private dinners like that, it’s rude. Go get her a bottle of Kanar as an apology or something.”

“Oh,” Kovat blinked a couple of times, then blushed a bit. “ _ She _ reported me? I can’t believe it!”

Damar rolled his eyes.

“No flame burns hotter than a woman’s rage,” were his words of wisdom as he departed, glaring at Lykes as he passed him by.

Kovat’s shoulders slumped a bit, but he cheered up and turned to Timun, heading back to him.

“Now, where were we?”

“Whatever it was, I’m extremely sorry for the inconvenience,” Timun apologized again. “Is there any way I could make things more comfortable for you?” he inquired.

“Not really,” Kovat smiled through clenched teeth, then cowered a bit as a cranky old woman came walking toward them. She was not happy, “Here we go…” muttered Kovat, “Yes, Magistrate?”

“Explain yourself,” Sayad crossed her arms over her chest.

“I thought, if I bought him dinner, I’d soften him up to share medical details on his species,” Kovat told sheepishly. “He did. It was  _ purely _ scientific, and I regret that Kelar wasn’t there; she would’ve enjoyed the parts of the symbionts and Trill pregnancy.”

His superior huffed at him.

“Go  _ home _ , you hopeless idiot. You’ll work from there for  _ three days _ ,” she shook her head frantically.  “And  _ you _ ,” she pointed at Lykes, “you’d better start respecting our regulations soon, or I’ll  _ personally _ make sure that you’re sent back home in a trunk.”

The alien bowed deeply with a flow of apology that was too long for Sayad’s patience – she left with a ‘ _ humph! _ ’ and Kovat exhaled slowly, eyes still wide.

“That was terrifying,” he admitted, rubbing his aching chest. “I thought she was going to have me fired.” Then he threw a glance at the closest wall panel, “Aha! If we run, we might make the next transport home,” he commented to Lykes, giving him little time to react before he dashed away, past his still very cross superior, through the courtyard (where he hollered a “ _ I’m sorry about lunch, I’ll get you a bottle of Kanar or something _ ” to his assistant as he passed her), then to the right at the street, where he nearly collided with a soldier, who scolded him a bit for being disorderly.

The alien jogged comfortably by his side, and three minutes later, they arrived at the transport platform – it wasn’t completely deserted, which implied they could still catch the rail. Kovat seemed rather extenuated by the effort. Timun was only warming up.

“Well! At least that was a little bit of exercise, but I, ah… If I’d known, I would have taken my bags with me to the restaurant…” he told embarrassedly.

“...That’s... how it’s going to be now,” Kovat made a grimace. “I  _ hope  _ you’re carrying legal documents  _ on your body _ as per regulations –” Timun nodded positively to reassure him.

The Notator stood on his toes a little, “Here she comes,” he gesticulated to the transport – most wagons carried wares, but those that didn’t were elegant and everyone got a seat.

“It’s communal,” he told as the both of them sat inside. “We also have communal health care – as long as you’re employed or otherwise endorsed, health care is a public service. Of course, if you want more influence over your treatment, it might still cost a bit but – ah, look,” he pointed through the window as they started moving, “nevermind, too late... there was a couple of voles mating.”

“I’m sorry I missed that sight,” Timun snickered.

Instead, he enjoyed the sight of the city, losing himself to the contemplation in batted awe. About a quarter hour later, they entered Paldar, and ten more minutes later, they reached Arkeny Kovat’s home on the top floor of his building. It was a humble flat, overlooking the city at a flattering angle. The first room was the bedroom, where a single bed throned to the left, right underneath a mirror – on the opposite wall hung a tv display. A door to the bathroom laid across the room, and to the right was an open hallway to the kitchen – a table and three chairs, in the event that friends would come over. The room itself was black-and-grey and held a fireplace, a small, spheric fridge which design belonged to another lifetime, and a shelf of photographs (most of them of bugs, but three of them of Kovat’s family; his two younger siblings, Savil and Kinaal, then the enjoinment photo of his parents, who were joining hands and leaning their foreheads together, then one of the full family, taken when Savil was newborn.)

“Make yourself at home,” Kovat slipped out of his shoes and jacket, “I’ll be in the bathroom, I need a shower,” he excused himself and disappeared into the next room, humming a little as he got into the shower.

The water relaxed him, and he lingered longer than was practical or necessary, but just enough for what was enjoyable – his makeup washed off, revealing a dark skin and lack of pigment at his forehead, neckscales, hands and speckles on his arms, as well as the finer scales of his chest, that one big, annoying blotch at his back, and the patch at his right knee. Watching himself in the mirror, he drew a deep sigh and contemplated whether it would be worth it to put on makeup just to please an alien, then decided against it, wrapping himself in his blue bathrobe instead, entering back into the bedroom where he started pulling at the side of the bed to make it wider – they’d have to share, after all.

Timun looked at him, a bit amazed.

“It’s a very nice flat you have,” he told instead of commenting about the leucistism. “Very orderly. I appreciate order.” Then he figured it was going to be awkward if he was going to have to  _ avoid _ the topic like this and simply continued, “Is leucistism a source of social stigma?”

Kovat didn’t instantly answer the question – he hadn’t expected it, and found that it was an unwelcome subject, since he was a bit stressed already, which caused his emotions to be particularly close to the surface. Finally, he’d extended the width of the bed, and he sat on it.

“Yes, it is,” he told the alien as he looked up at him. “Piebaldism,” he explained, “is an autosomal dominant trait, unfortunately. This kind of diversity is not very welcome in society; it disrupts the public image. It’s not directly impairing, but...” he smiled a bit and got up and over to the wardrobe, where he got rid of the gown and started putting on a green suit instead, “-I likely won’t get enjoined anytime soon, and I have a narrow path to walk – people like me, who don’t look  _ quite _ Cardassian, but still are, are  _ extremely _ useful test subjects,” he turned to his guest and smiled despite the stinging pain in his eyes. “I’m glad you like my flat. Would you like to watch the transmissions? There’s usually a trial at this hour.”

“Who is the Conservator in this one?” Timun asked. “I’ve heard that Nall Rokat is a rather good one, but I doubt he’s working these days…”

They sat on the bed, and Kovat cozied up with his blankets, shoving a pillow between his back and the wall, then ordered the screen to turn on.

“Ugh, it’s Tekar,” he muttered, then wet his lips, leaning closer. “He always goes on  _ forever _ and there’s no feelings. Now, Kovat – no, he’s not related to me – is a good one. Rokat is also rather good, though I think he’s  _ too _ emotional, and then there’s Eliad, Naker and Gerak, though admittedly, I wish Gerak would stop  _ mumbling _ . It’s like he was never taught to articulate properly, or maybe he’s got a too short tongue or something,” he leaned the back of his head against the wall.

The trial seemed to be against someone who had killed a half-Bajoran half-Cardassian worker, which was illegal and going to be punished by labour detention.

Kovat glanced sideways at the alien.

“Isn’t the Chief Archon attractive?” he asked him, “I used to know a woman rather similar to her. We studied together. She really had a knack for DNA resequencing.”

“She does have elegant ridges and splendid hairstyle; it really enhances her features and the intensity of her eyes,” Timun agreed. “She has exactly the same shade of blue makeup as your colleague,” he noted. “Kelar does like you, doesn’t she? I thought you were in a relationship, maybe – I mean, I hope this doesn’t come off as offensive and intrusive,” he added very quickly. “Maybe you’re just very close in a professional way.”

“Aha!? What,  _ Kelar? _ ” Kovat echoed in disbelief. Then he thought some about it, and remained silent for the rest of the trial, only to come back to his senses when Tobran appeared to talk about the weather for the upcoming week: “That’s  _ a lot _ of rain,” he commented rather glumly. He hated rainy days.

Eventually, he decided to do some work and let the Vulcan do some pushups and such exercising in the meanwhile. After some three hours, he seemed to grow bored however and asked Kovat if he’d let him have a shower and examine him afterwards maybe.

“Ah, I was hoping to do that at work,” he then realized that he’d been ported from work for some days, and that maybe he didn’t want the alien to stay  _ that _ long, “...but I suppose we can do it here. You’re welcome to use my shower. Just be mindful of the plant in the corner, there’s pupae in it and I don’t want them washed down the drain – they ah, they need moisture to live, that’s why I keep them in the shower.”

“I’ll be very careful,” Timun promised and went.

He came back naked and the examination began. Kovat regretted not to have any tools at his disposal, but observing the alien body was interesting nonetheless. The ventral pouch really was a peculiar feature to find on a humanoid. Strange how their evolution had stopped before reaching the womb stage, probably due to the symbionts. Timun let him pull the pouch open to see how far down it went and commented on it.

“It’s very soft skin, isn’t it? And at the bottom there’s an opening that can be enlarged in order to slip the symbiont through, or, more practically for most female ones of us, it’s also where our babies develop and incubate. It’s really amazing to see, and the pouch is very practical to provide care and medication all along the pregnancy if needed – I must admit that when I got around this part of my studies I was very tempted to go into obstetrics because those tiny little things are so cute! They have protective fur and a little tail to help them hold in place, but those features disappear progressively along the months,” he cooed. “And we have little tits inside for the baby to suckle on and feed and  _ you shouldn’t touch them _ ,” he suddenly got a bit stiff as Kovat neared the area. “I mean. You  _ can _ , but it might arouse me and I really do not wish to put you ill at ease,” he warned.

Kovat withdrew a bit, not exactly alarmed by the warning.

“And because you’re a Vulcan, that means you’ll have to have sex,” he noted factually, “or you’ll die. And I’m not sure how I’d explain a dead body in my flat – most certainly I’d be fired, and then I’d have to go to a trial. And become a test subject,” he shuddered and sunk back a bit.

Timun snickered a little and went on to dispel the Notator’s misconceptions about pon’farr.

“...But may I ask you, as a purely theoretical question… Are there ah, comfort women available in this city? It’s ...purely a theoretical question…”

Kovat’s expression went from fascinated to disgusted to offended.

“That is highly illegal!” he burst out in outrage, “Why do you think  _ I _ would know of any such thing?! Did you even read the regulations book?! Poor me!” he flailed his arms a little and then got off the bed, walking to the kitchen. “You must never speak of such things again! It’s disgusting –  _ and _ if you want to have sex, you’ll have to  _ court _ someone! There  _ are _ open-minded people who wouldn’t mind, but... ugh!” he reappeared with a glass of water, which he sipped on to calm himself. “Oooh, this has been such a horrible day...”

“I’m sorryyyyy…” Timun hid his face in the mattress and covered his head with his arms.

He sheepishly went back onto topic, going onto explain why he also had nipples on his chest, as Kovat inquired about them.

“It’s a matter that, at some point, the babies become too big to keep on feeding inside the pouch – it’s possible to put just the head inside but it’s a bit claustrophobic and very unpractical for the parents as you may imagine. That’s when feeding with the breasts becomes possible or necessary, rather. Females are best equipped for this task, but males can often nurse too, albeit in smaller amounts. The lactation is activated by pheromones exchanged between both parents and their baby,” he lectured. “I haven’t experienced this much because the mother of my child wasn’t Trill and carried the baby in her womb. I could only carry our newborn in my pouch,” he recalled fondly. “It’s very practical.”

“You’re enjoined?” Kovat asked, even more disgusted, “And you’re looking for com- for comf... for you know what? You should be back home on Trill, taking care of your child and honoring your devotion to your wife! Perhaps you should find another flat to sleep in – many things I can let slide, but this is getting absurd; what kind of alien scum are you?”

No, really, too much was too much, and the alien’s attempts to cover up his mistake, something about how he wasn’t enjoined with the mother and that was supposedly normal, were only awkward and obscene.

“You have been extremely good to me, Your Kovat, more so than I can repay you for,” Timun said with bittersweetness. “I would absolutely be willing to spend the night someplace else if it is more comfortable for you this way, if there is some hotel nearby maybe… But I would need to get my bags back…” he realized and bit his lips.

“No, it’s fine,” muttered the doctor. He emptied the second glass he’d been sipping on, returning it to the kitchen. “Your problems won’t go away just because you do – the Obsidian Order has been known to off people for  _ less _ than the things you are talking about. And you have to forgive me for being a bit stressed after what happened today… I just really don’t want to get fired. Or end up interrogated over suspicions of having weird relations with aliens,” he shuddered. “I would  _ never _ get enjoined if that happened, I’m pretty sure.”

Timun Lykes nodded and ended up sitting in front of the tv for the rest of the evening, listening with earphones to avoid disturbing his host. He finally kept very tame in conversation around dinner, and laid in silence next to Kovat, listening to music all through the night and writing on his PADD.

Come the first hours of morning the next day, the two men headed back to the Bureau of Alien Affairs so the alien could pick his bags and be on his way. It was such a relieving prospect for Arkeny Kovat, and he even allowed himself to relax and smile as they traveled through the city. Timun Lykes attempted to speak in Kardasi and the Notator frowned at the pronunciation, trying to be understanding still.

“Do you have ducks in Cardassia, Your Kovat?” the alien ended up asking as they neared the door of the Notator’s office. “I clearly remember this rule in the alien code of conduct, that forbade talking or sitting next to a duck in the transports, and I’m still very puzzled as to what that was supposed to mean…”

“Ducks?” Kovat frowned his eyes into small slits, “That’s what you get for relying on those Federal translators of yours. The text probably said-” the doors had opened to reveal Kelar sitting at his table with an unfamiliar elderly man dressed in dark grey, “-repair crew,” the doctor finished the sentence. “What’s going on? Where are the alien’s bags?” he asked further, as he couldn’t see them anywhere.

“Confiscated by the Order earlier this morning,” Kelar answered, lifting her teacup to her lips again, smiling pleasantly.

“Good day to you, Doctor Kovat,” the elderly man started, “I am Kyreen, and I’m here to-”

Momentarily, Kovat couldn’t see anything, as the world dissolved into dots of blackness and lack of light – when he came to it again, he was somehow laying on the floor, held by the alien, and had a warm sensation down the crotch.

“Now that’s  _ really _ unfortunate,” Timun commented in dismay at the disparition of his tools right when he might need them (and his clothes and PADDs and everything else for that matter), instead fumbling in his coat for his medical tricorder. “Ah, it’s the emotion,” he concluded quickly. “Too much stress… But he’ll be back on his feet quickly,” he started to move the Notator’s limbs to make sure blood was having a good flow in his body, in goal to lay him on his side in lateral safety position – and realized then that the man’s pants had become wet.

“He’ll be fine,” Kyreen answered in his deep, raspy voice, a slight grin on his pale lips as he got to his feet.

He was a handsome older Cardassian – his face was bony yet elegant and his eyes, which were a cold shade of grey, carried just enough spark to make him seem like he knew perfectly well what everyone else were thinking.

“Timun Lykes, you are to submit to State Intelligence. Your time as a free visitor to Cardassia is over,” he made to lead them out of the office, leaving Kovat in Kelar’s care.

Timun stared at him with horror and slight disbelief.

“Already?” he blew at last. “Well, that was… quick.”

He got up, albeit unsteadily, though he tried to hold himself formally as he followed the old man, assuming that, probably, he was supposed to do that. He checked his own heart pace on his tricorder, quickly confirming that it was indeed pounding strong and fast.

“I’m  _ really _ sorry,” he shot at Kelar quickly before exciting, and then again at Kyreen, “I’m  _ really, really _ sorry. I was intending to leave very shortly, I only came to ensure the medical care of a patient…”

“Spare it for the interrogator,” Kyreen purred as he laid one hand at his hip, where a phaser hung, and pressed the other hand to the small of his back. “Your Vulcan physique truly is unique. I shall think that you’ll be an excellent resource in one of our many mines.”

He grinned even wider at that, then came to a halt in the middle of a corridor, turning on the spot and firing one single shot at Timun’s stomach, stunning him instantly. Shortly after, they were transported directly to the facility where two of Kyreen’s colleagues prepared the alien for his interrogation, while he himself headed into the deeper parts of the warehouse.

“Setik,” he knocked on the door arch and stepped into the makeshift office, and looked at the man’s back where he sat, “he has been brought in. He seems soft... Isolation for some hours before entering might not be the worst of ideas. Should I ask to make the room hot or cold?”

“Now, that, Kyreen, is a very good question,” Setik said with a bit of a dramatic concern. “According to the information I have, Vulcans prefer warmer temperatures, but Trills like it colder. But, considering he was in the warmest room of the ship when I found him first, I guess I’ll opt to offer him cold for a change,” he grinned and spinned his chair, petting the tiger cub on his lap.

“I’ll see to it,” Kyreen looked briefly at the animal, then at Setik – he didn’t even question it. Working with interrogators always had its really weird moments, because they were all creative in their own separate ways. Very few things proved surprising once one reached Kyreen’s age. “He’ll be waiting for you in chamber four, since it’s the only one hooked up to the energy network since the move.”

He disappeared shortly after, to oversee that the alien was properly tied to the chair – gagged, blindfolded and his ears covered. Then, he decreased the temperature of the room to the point that he himself didn’t want to stay. He just quickly distributed the drug to wake the creature, and left the room, paying a sorry look to the guard who had to stand duty just inside the doors.

##  * * *

Timun awoke to nothing but cold. He couldn’t see nor hear anything. His movement were restricted and something unpleasant gagged him. He was bound, helpless, naked, and it was cold. Time passed, but he had no idea how much. He tried to move sometimes, to shuffle a bit in hope to make himself a little more comfortable, but each time his skin lifted from the chair even just a little, it was bitten by cold. He thought of Savras and Nysar and wondered if he may ever reach them with his mind over all the light-years separating them. He didn’t want to worry them, of course, but it would be comforting if he were capable of such a feat. To bad that he was such an untrained telepath.

He was still lost in his mental search when his senses were returned to him.

“Timun Lykes,” a voice called his name but bright lights blinded him painfully when he tried to look in that direction. “Do you know why you are here?”

The Vulcan could vaguely distinguish the shape of someone seated on a platform a bit above him. That he seemed to have a tail was probably a trick of the moving light. Wincing in pain, he tried to get his eyes more accustomed to the luminosity by blinking a bit.

“I… uh…” his mouth felt dry and his jaw was sore from the hours spent gagged. “I talked too much?” he suggested.

“Are you certain that it is all you did?” the man asked again in a deep, purring voice. “Look at me, Timun Lykes.”

The Vulcan tried to comply, wincing some more each time the light hit his eyes, forcing him to look down for a moment.

“I ah, talked about gods? It  _ wasn’t _ a religious term, I insist, only a Trillian hyperbole-” he was interrupted by an electric shock that got a surprised cry out of him. “I’m sorry! I- I didn’t mean any disrespect to the military nor Central Command – war orphans are certainly very well on Bajor, I wasn’t planning to see  _ any _ comfort woman, I swear, and I’m so sorry I embarrassed Mister Kovat! I lied to him about having been enjoined at some point in life, I’m sorry! I was never enjoined, my daughter was born of a pon’farr accident and I’m supposed to return to Federation space to marry my wife-to-be,” he told in a bit of despair. “I only came here to protect Melekor Kel. He wasn’t a Cardassian citizen yet!” Then he gasped. “I… I  _ did _ remove Glain Rokat’s scars while on DS9. He asked me to do it so he could get enjoined more easily. I had to use a special regenerative gel to work alongside with my dermal regenerator…”

There was a silence.

“Timun Lykes. Do you know why you are here?” the question went again.

“I suppose I don’t… I’m  _ sorry _ . If you tell me, maybe I can tell you what you want? I’ll tell you everything,  _ everything! _ I just want to get back home…!” he pleaded. “I always do what I’m told to! Ask Garak!”

The room went silent again. The only noises were the sliding of the lamps behind the agent, and the buzzing in Timun’s mind as stress turned into tinnitus.

“Who is Garak?” Setik asked.

“He’s one of yours, isn’t he?” the Vulcan was certain he heard that voice before. “He’s the only Cardassian who permanently resides on DS9, he works as a tailor there. His shop is called Garak’s Clothier. He is a very kind person, or at least appears as such. He…  _ He _ was the one to find out that Melekor Kel was an intersexed female who had been altered to look male little time after birth. Melekor pinned this discovery on me because he didn’t want to cause any problem to Garak.” He gulped and licked his lips, though his tongue felt dry too, and the cold of the room bit him. “Garak also helped me to save Melekor’s life. Melekor had forgotten to take his medicine, which he needs to live, and the station’s Chief Medical Officer was gone to, I think, find something to cure Garak who was also on the edge of death at that moment…” he recalled.

“What had happened to Garak?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t his doctor,” Timun answered. “All I know is that he was in great pain and had seizures. I have no idea what disease or other ailment caused it, but it wasn’t contagious.”

He looked at the man again, still disturbed by the tail.

“Is it you, Setik?” He sighed, “I should have guessed you were all from the Order on that ship. What an idiot I am… I could have given you those cases and just… waited for the next ship headed to Federation space…”

“What was in those cases?”

“I only know what was in one of them. DNA from an agent of the Ra’Shakiin. I don’t know what the other contained exactly.”

“What is the Ra’Shakiin?” Setik smiled softly.

“Officially, it used to be a Trillian religious sect that was eliminated over a thousand years ago,” Timun started. “Religion isn’t banned on Trill, but those sects are hunted down, especially the ones holding beliefs related to the symbionts, or deifying Joined Trills as godly beings. Those groups are considered to be terrorists by the Federal State and the Symbiosis Commission. But the Ra’Shakiin is reborn, and has ironically taken up a position of terrorist hunters to protect the Commission and the symbionts.” He paused. “Do you understand a single thing I’m saying or does that sound like mad raving to you?”

“ _ I _ ask the questions.  _ You _ answer,” the agent clarified the rules, petting the cub some more. The warmth it provided him with was more than welcome in the coldness of the room.

Timun nodded and started to develop further onto the political intricacies of Trill and Joining procedures, all without mentioning anyone in particular. It took hours, and Setik made him repeat himself a number of times, pointing out the least contradiction, which usually had Timun develop complicated aspects further and further to disambiguate his own words. In the end, he was starting to be hungry and also really needed to go to the bathroom, and he was freezing so much that he was tempted to just empty his bladder on himself to get a little bit of warmth – but he knew he would freeze all the more after.

At last, Setik put an end to the session and had him brought to a confinement cell for the night. “Sleep deprivation,” he required.

“Have you done anything to him?” his colleague gave a dubious look to the Vulcan.

“Not yet. It wasn’t necessary for the moment,” Setik let through a bit of disappointment. “I suppose it gives Ijar some more time to finish my holoprogram,” he squatted to hold and prevent the tiger cub from wandering too much.

“Are you going to keep that pet around with you forever now?” the other squinted. “This place isn’t a zoo.”

“Sometimes it feels like it,” Setik grinned and glanced at the Vulcan on screen. “I read that Vulcans can stay alive without eating for rather long periods of time. No meal for him. I know someone who’ll have better use of it,” he ruffled the cub’s fur before putting a harness around its neck and chest. “Keep the temperature to eighteen degrees for now, and alternate five hours of complete darkness and one hour of flashing lights. Keep me updated on his status.”

That said, he left with his pet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	3. I - The duties of a son

# The duties of a son

 

Back at the Bureau of Alien Affairs, Torain Damar had just entered the main hall. He certainly had had better weeks, and he was still a bit stiff when he turned up at the front desk.

“Your Damar,” Ziana greeted him, lifting her headset off of her ears for a moment, “Here to pick up the new recruit?” – he nodded shortly. “You don’t look very happy about it.”

“It’s not him, it’s the Obs- what just happened,” Torain commented, flailing his hands until he thought to put them away and hold them behind his back. “It wasn’t in my ward, but I’m still permitted to have feelings about it, am I not?”

“No need to be so formal, Magistrate. It’s just you and me here.”

“And the ever watchful eyes of the Order,” he glanced up at the very visible camera, “I hope they won’t turn up again. I’m not sure Doctor Kovat would survive an interrogation,” he looked at Ziana, then his shoulders drooped a little, and she gave him a careful smile.

“They got the alien, I’d like to think that the rest of us are largely unconcerned. Unless you’ve got something to hide…” she grinned; Damar made a surly face.

“Everyone has something to hide,” he mocked her a bit. “I get freckles in strong sunlight and I have to wear foundation to look normal, for example.”

Ziana gasped.

“You too? What brand do you use?”

“Hesak – but you should use one for women.”

“Oh, yeah, because the minerals are different for women,” she mocked him back. “Thank you for your insight into cosmetics, Damar.”

Silence settled between them as they watched the early sunrise cast a glowing shimmer across the courtyard outside the glass doors.

“Who is he going to go alongside?”

“Who?” Damar frowned.

“The new recruit – what were you thinking about just now?”

“That the gardener forgot to remove the weeds between the tiles. It’s messy and it disturbs me –” Ziana rolled her eyes. “His young Rokat is going to go alongside Freyar; I figured the old man could use the help.”

“That’s an awfully low position... didn’t His Rokat work a higher position in the department of-”

“-Don’t we all have a past that’s somehow higher than the present?” Damar asked acidly.

Ziana looked at him, but he stared through the window as if he didn’t see her fishing for attention.

“I don’t,” she finally stated haughtily. “I climb up. But you really _are_ in an awful mood today. Here, have a meith,” she reached a bowl of small, round pebbles towards him, and he took one, absently propping it into his mouth. The spicy-sweet sugar dissolved nicely on the tongue, gifting him with a fresh breath.

“That’s him,” he pointed to the small Cardassian crossing the courtyard. “You know. Considering what just happened, it wouldn’t surprise me if he works for the Order. I don’t like the coincidences in timing.”

“Don’t. You’ll turn into a paranoid toad like Didara,” Ziana warned, but whether or not he listened to her wasn’t entirely clear, as he simply walked up to the doors and stood there.

“Your Rokat, I deeply appreciate your sense of punctuality,” he greeted the newcomer who nodded in return. “I am Torain Damar, Chief Archivist and Magistrate of the department in which you’ll operate. Do you have any questions or concerns before we go there?”

“I’m only curious to discover what sorts of errands I’ll be assigned with,” Glain answered with a quite radiant smile. “I heard I am to work with one Tsekel Freyar?”

“Correct. I’ll let him explain it to you once we get there. Your common room is on level five, corridor four, room seven,” he explained as they walked over to the elevators – Ziana and Glain exchanged appreciative nods, which Damar didn’t fail to notice. That young Rokat reeked of confidence and ambition.

“Your father specifically told me that your advances are to be approved by him before they can be implemented,” the Chief Archivist reminded him, “and you cannot overstep his authority. If you try, you might be fired, and he will not have as easy a time finding you a job again after that. Understood, Rokat?”

“Of course. Thankfully, it’ll resolve itself quickly, as soon as I get enjoined,” the youth folded his hands behind his back as he slipped the implicit information.

“Yes,” his superior said in a rather nasal way, “your father _did_ slip it to me that you were looking for a suitable match. Unfortunately for you, most women here are either already enjoined, or in the process of courting someone. The handful that aren’t, ah...” he ended the sentence as to imply that no one wanted those, anyway. Then, there was Ziana, but Damar’s opinion was that she was too good for Rokat anyway.

Glain figured that the predicament wasn’t so bad, considering he liked to keep duty and privacy separated, and, thinking about it, he wasn’t sure he would really like to have to hold the pretence of being in love with a woman at all times. At least, the Bureau seemed overall pretty neat, and he thought he would get used to it fast.

The elevator came to a halt and opened up to a glass veranda, overlooking the courtyard below.

“Corridor four,” Damar made the way to the fourth-numbered door, getting into a more warm and closed off area.

At the end was the common room. It lacked a door, but made up in environment: the room was centered by a water-filled tower which held several species of colorful fish, and aside from offering the occupants both comfortable sofas and armchairs, there were also three round tables with two chairs each, and a small, unmanned cafeteria in the other end. At the table furthest from the door, sat a short, round, elderly Cardassian, reading from a news PADD while dipping a slice of bread in his hot shancha – that was Tsekel Freyar. Opposite to him sat a decidedly younger man man of darker pigmentation, tapping the table and wiggling his legs a bit in restlessness – that was Dayar Edar.

“What’s this passage about _dogs?_ ” Freyar asked him with a frown, then spotted Damar as he looked up and laid the PADD flat on the table. “Damar! I’ve been meaning to – oh, and this must be Rokat,” he got up, brushed off his clothes and walked up to both of them, paying them respectful nods. “Anyway, I finished replacing the corrupted files, though I think the computer might have overheated a little, because it doesn’t respond to me anymore.”

“You probably turned down the sound,” Damar shook his head. “Listen, this is Glain Rokat, he’s to join you in your work efforts, just... teach him what you do.”

“Alright, I’ll let him fix my computer,” the old man translated.

Damar nodded to the two of them, then patted Glain’s arm before withdrawing.

“Ah, how delightful!” chirped Freyar once the Magistrate had gone, knocking his knuckles a little. He then pulled an additional chair to his table and patted it, “Have a seat – ah, this is His Edar. Edar, this is my new assistant, His Rokat.”

Edar frowned a little, colorful eyes setting on the newcomer.

“Forgive me for asking, but you don’t happen to be related to _the_ Rokat, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Glain smiled pleasantly as he sat. “My father figured I was a little too focused on career and not enough on finding a wife,” he explained. “If you’ll forgive me for asking, are you part of those who quite like him, or part of those who find him too emotional?” he smiled, trying to figure what was Dayar’s eye color and concluding that there were just too many different shades for two irises.

“Enough of that,” Freyar cut off, patting the PADD, “Now, what’s with the dogs?”

“I’m just a humble translator, I can’t be faulted for what the Klingons chose to write in that text,” Edar leaned back in his chair. “But how is he these days?” he asked Glain with more concern, “Conservator Rokat – he seems unwell, and he’s on so rarely… When he is, it’s rather a treat, of course – I mean, I understand it’s not my place to be concerned, and I don’t mean to snoop, but... and now you’re here,” he made a sorry expression, “in the same...” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “position as him.”

“Are you talking shit?” Freyar objected, getting flushed in an instant.

“No, just gossipping about girls,” Edar lied fluidly.

“I’m really here for the reason I said; nothing’s wrong with my father,” Glain assured, lying just as fluidly. “I expect he’ll be getting better and better in just a little time,” he answered more frankly while evading details. “What about we switch to a more professional topic? I’ve been dying to know what my duty here is going to be,” he laced his fingers together.

“You do what the rest of us tell you to,” Edar told him with a grin, fishing the PADD from Freyar and handing it to Glain. “I am the Public Records Editor and Translator to the State, I compile files such as these,” he shuffled his chair up next to Glain and indicated the different tabs. “Now, I’ve devised a simple system to assist the efficiency of your work,” he showed and explained the archiving program he’d developed on his own.

Glain noted that it looked like something designed by a child, with excessive color-coding everywhere, but made sure not to make any such comment.

“You’ll have to manually go through and categorize in the subcategories, because I was banned from developing my system further. _Someone_ thought it made them redundant,” Edar threw an eye roll at Freyar.

“He is _my_ assistant,” the old Cardassian thought to remind him, “Don’t you have some translations to do somewhere?”

“Maybe I’ll steal him from you,” Edar threatened as he shuffled back into his place, “And I thought Damar said he was your _equal_ , not your assistant.”

“Age matters,” the man puffed himself up and dipped his bread in his cup.

Edar made a grimace.

“Anyway, I hope you’ll have a pleasant day, Your Rokat, and that you’ll grow to enjoy your new tasks,” he got up from his chair, paying them both a bow before walking to his office.

Glain looked him go, eyes trailing down the young man’s ass in a natural reflex. A pity he had to look out for women; that was a nice ass.

“Alright, let’s take a look at your computer then,” Glain turned back to Freyar who cooed with sudden sweetness and pitched him on his issue again: there was no sound. He tried to demonstrate it, complaining despite the computer’s reply.

“Normally it lists things for me, but as you can hear...” he made an outraged expression, “this tech they give us, it’s sub-par.”

“Hm,” Glain nodded. “Computer, increase volume to seventy percent and repeat the list of the three most recent file additions,” he ordered, which prompted the computer to repeat at a significantly louder volume. “Your hearing isn’t so good, is it?”

As it turned out, Freyar had forgotten he’d reduced the volume to stop hearing the repetitive ‘ _file added_ ’ notifications. Glain died a little inside – there he was, sharing the status of a man who couldn’t even edit sound notification settings to suit his needs.

“Perhaps you could take care of His Edar’s files while I start applying the reorganization…” Freyar suggested. “Can’t believe they merged Om and Apa and now they change their mind and want them separated again, which of course isn’t as easy as it was to put them together.”

“You don’t hardcode…” Glain started, then interrupted himself: “Nevermind, I’ll look into it,” he dragged the computer and started to look into what was going on there. “So, how did you end up doing this job?” he asked more casually while tapping the screen and other commands. “I don’t suppose your father demoted you here?” he joked.

“Hard work and dedication,” Freyar told as he flicked through his files. “I used to work as an assistant bookkeeper to one of the employees here. He trusted me enough to vouch for me, and here we are,” he smiled happily at Glain. “I should’ve retired some years ago, but my daughter is only nineteen, and I still need to provide for her. She’s very clever,” he boasted, “She’s studying environmental science, and she’s very good at it. Or at least, they say she is, I wouldn’t know; I’m not very good at those things, even though I used to be a gardener when I was her age.”

Glain looked at the wrinkles and scales of his colleague’s face and found that he probably was old enough to be a grandfather or even a great-grandfather. But then he figured.

“Oh! So you adopted her? That’s very generous,” he complimented. The lack of foresight in family planning did align with the lack of foresight in archiving.

It took awhile for the old man to understand the Glain’s reasoning, but when he did he was very offended – Mika was _his_ , and she was a very _unique_ child!

The young man nodded at that, “Ah, yes. So, uhm, would you happen to have anything to share about our colleagues? Do you have some friends here?” he changed the topic. Thankfully, Freyar was eager to answer that. _At length._

He told of Kuman, who was nice but had a problem with Kanar, Torain Damar who, yes, was related to the prominent Damar family in the military, but got washed from the Bamarren Institute of State Security due to his asthma; and then Ziana, who knew everything about everybody – “I believe she’ll take Damar’s position the day he makes a mistake. They aren’t bitter enemies, though; I think they actually quite get along,” he slipped. Then went onto Vekor, who sneaked in confiscated alien treats that Freyar enjoyed getting from him, and Tarak, who dealt with alien music and was very good at kotra (except while drunk).

“And... you met Dayar Edar,” he leaned forwards and continued in a hushed voice, “He used to be a she,” he told in confidence. “He lives alone with his infertile uncle,” he chuckled. “I bet they do illegal things in bed.” Then he straightened up and realized something, “And Arkeny Kovat! Poor sod, I hear the Obsidian Order paid him a visit just this morning, and he _fainted_ and _pissed himself_ in fear. In front of the woman who has been trying to court him for years – ha! It wasn’t even _him_ they wanted, that’s what makes it more tragic! Or fun, I guess.”

“No, really?” Glain laid forth to listen the interesting gossip – when the Order appeared, it was always best to know who to stay close or away from. “What’s Kovat’s position? You say they didn’t want him, you imply they took someone?”

“Exobiologist Notator, he is. You know, the sort that records the aliens – anyway, from what I hear, they confiscated some items belonging to the alien, along with the alien himself. I think he was a Trill, whatever that is,” Freyar shrugged, then nodded instantly. “And all his files were requested by the State Intelligence section instantly! Must have been some criminal. And poor Kovat let him sleep in his flat – he’s terrified the Order will come and question him now. Not that he’s ever done anything shifty; he’s the most law abiding citizen I’ve ever met – which of course means he’s hiding something.”

Glain phased out for a moment, understanding exactly what had happened. Timun Lykes had been taken by the Order. It was either very bad or very good, but nervosity blurred his perception quite efficiently. Instead, he started laughing quite frankly.

“That’ll teach him – the alien, I mean,” he shrugged, continuing his work.

Before long, Freyar asked him if he wanted to play kotra instead, which Glain refused, instead letting him keep on talking. He inquired about his daughter some more – he had to keep his mind open for opportunities of enjoinment after all.

“Mika?” Tsekel still took the kotra board, and set it at another table, starting to practice against himself, “She likes to bring me these small exhibitions of mini-ecosystems. She keeps telling me how Cardassia could possibly be restored to its previous lush state, if only resources were poured into natural sciences rather than military sciences – she’s naïve like that. With so many threats, we don’t have the time to mend what works... but it’s rather sweet how she’s trying.” He smiled a bit sheepishly, then caught sight of the doorway, “Your Damar. Would you care for-”

“-No, thank you,” Damar answered shortly as he went over to the cafeteria and took some fish juice and a bun for himself, then settled down alone at a table, leaning backwards. “I deserve an early lunch br- hello Edar –”

Edar did just as Damar had, joining him at the table. Shortly after they were sunk into a deep conversation on the intricacies of Rihannsu idioms, and how Edar had caught a snag in the document he was translating.

“You see, there are three different meanings to the same phrase; sometimes it means all three of them – for ambivalence – but this time, it’s specific. I need more context, so I’d like access to some of the restricted files. And I don’t have the time.”

“Ha, hear that, Freyar? You have better things to do than to play Kotra _with yourself_.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Freyar countered in annoyance.

“Of course you didn’t,” Damar snarked back, “You never hear anything when it’s about work – it’s a wonder anything here gets done at all! Because you’re _all_ lazy pieces of-” he interrupted himself as he’d started hyperventilating, and coughing as a result.

The three other men had tensed a bit, and Edar was a bit paler than before.

“I’ll just do it myself,” he mumbled as he got up, took his lunch and went to his office instead.

“I’m done with the files,” Glain decided to announce factually as he got up to get himself some lunch too. “I found remnants of metadata that used to differentiate both types of files so I just put together a command to automatically process them. Can I get you something to drink, Freyar?”

“Some tea would be rather lovely,” Freyar beamed at Glain; Damar’s expression soured.

“You’ll take your lunch and go help Edar,” he told Glain rather harshly, “and _you,_ ” he pointed at Freyar, “you’ll put that game away this instant. And then I want you to find all the files we have on the varieties of spiders living on the third moon of Ferenginar.”

Obedient, Glain quickly put a cap on his cup, grabbed a lunch box, his PADD, and scuttered off to find Edar. He had to wonder if anything Freyar had told about him was true and if he might have female organs somewhere, and preferably functional ones – after all, he was rather nice, had a nice tan and a nice ass. The young man knocked at his office and soon entered.

“Hi again,” he smiled. “Damar told me to come help you,” he quickly scanned the room.

Slightly startled, Edar whirled around on his chair, sending the door a frightful look. Then relaxed, appreciating Damar’s attention and explaining his predicament.

“I’m trying to translate a set of Romulan records, but I lack the insight into their political status at the time – in particular the conflict regarding some river – or asteroid belt – called Delarius. The conflict took place around thirty to forty years ago, so there’s a timespan to work with, but I’m pretty sure the files I’m looking for are restricted, and I don’t have the authority to access those records. If you’d help me, I’d be very grateful – I’m doing this on orders from Gul Teran, and I have a feeling he wants a rather swift turnout.”

“So, it’s a clearance problem, hm?” Glain opened his food box, finding some kori breadballs inside – the sort with fish bits – and a little package of cream and wooden toothpick. “There’s always a way around and I suppose I could help, but you’ll owe me one,” he smiled maliciously.

“I’d owe you for you doing your job?” Edar sat on the counter instead and sipped from his teacup, rather frantic in his blatant dismay. “Damar _asked_ you to help me, didn’t he? You don’t want to run into problems on your first day,” he tried, but didn’t quite have the aggression or charisma to pull off a proper threat.

“Your Edar, let us not play such games or we’ll end up like Freyar, having to dig up all documents about varieties of spiders from Ferenginar’s third moon,” he uncrossed his legs and crossed them again.

“He’ll have to look for a long time… Ferenginar doesn’t _have_ any moons,” Edar raised an eyeridge and Glain snickered at the revelation.

“Alright, let’s see what we have,” he came closer with his lunchbox and took another seat by the computer. “The question is whether you want my help to be effective (which I suppose you wish), or not,” he said and took the time to eat a kori ball, quick but somewhat sultry. “My current status doesn’t grant me higher access than you have,” he reminded him softly. “I’m not supposed to be helpful in such a ...predicament.” He shuffled a bit on his chair and straightened up with mannered elegance. “Don’t worry however. I wouldn’t ask much in return for something so simple.”

Edar remained silent for a while, rather suspicious about the somewhat provocative way in which Glain was eating his food.

“You’re not going to ask... intimate favours, are you?” he asked uncomfortably.

Glain gave him bit of an offended look.

“I’ll have you know that I have _never_ asked such favours. That would be really disorderly _and_ illegal,” he rolled his eyes and looked down at his kori balls. “Moreover, we’re both men,” he snorted. “Ah, Freyar did say that you used to be a she, but I’m not sure what he even meant by that.” He raised his gaze and looked at him more attentively. The scales were quite soft and rounded but Edar still looked pretty masculine. “Intersexed?” he asked and smirked gently. “You wouldn’t be the first I meet.”

Edar, who had just lifted his cup to his lips, smacked it instantly in the desk again, staring at Glain with outrage as well as embarrassment.

“He said that?” he asked, his voice getting shrill in deception, then he crossed his arms over his chest and looked angrily at the table next to him. “I’m not intersexed. I’m physically female – but I’m _not_ a she, and I never _was_ a she. And that’s the end of it – now are you going to help me or not?” – Glain’s eyes gleamed.

“Certainly,” he finished his current kori ball and wiped his fingers on the little towel coming along with the box before closing it and setting it aside. “I’m sorry,” he added simply. “If that makes it better, if you say you’re a man then that’s all I need to know to see you as one,” he smiled and leaned over to take a look at the computer – “I see… Shouldn’t take long,” he looked back at Edar. “Maybe you’ve got something to do over there while I do my trick?” he gestured at the other end of the room. “It’s not as spectacular if you know how it’s done, is it? And you wouldn’t want to ruin your amazement.”

“I’ll have the rest of my tea,” the editor mumbled as he took his cup and walked over to the other end of the room where, for lack of furniture, he simply sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. “He didn’t tell you anything else about me, did he?”

Glain glanced at him, then back at the computer, his fingers pianoing over the controls. He took a bit too long to answer.

“He said you live with your uncle, I believe?” he frowned a bit. “He didn’t expand on the reasons and I wouldn’t inquire if you don’t wish to share private details about your life – we’ve only just met,” he feigned not to mind much. He grabbed a PADD and looked at Edar, “May I, Your Edar?”

“Go ahead,” Edar answered and waved his cup a little in Glain’s direction. “I was born on Soukara, in the more dense jungle area. I guess I figured I might have greater chances at greatness on Cardassia Prime, living with my uncle, than in the middle of some forest that the rest of Cardassia likes to forget even exists,” he sipped some of the tea. “Opportunities. They need to be chased.”

“Absolutely!” Glain agreed. “The trees are pretty, though,” he recalled. “But we don’t care for trees so much, you’re right… Ah, much better,” he commented his work as he started using the PADD alongside the computer. “I hope this won’t sound too curious on my behalf, and if it is, I apologize in advance, but… if you have female organs, won’t you have to enjoin a fertile man in order to procreate?” he asked. “That sounds a bit crude downed to this, I’m sorry… I usually don’t think about those things,” he muttered embarrassedly. “I guess it’s that everybody around me is getting enjoined or seeking to…”

“That is correct,” Edar answered shortly, uneasily twirling the small amount of tea left in his cup a couple of clockwise turns. “I’ll be twenty eight in just two months from now, and I _know_ I should try to find someone before I turn thirty – that’s when the State might decide to start looking on your behalf if they consider you genetically interesting enough,” he shriveled a bit with disgust. “I just wish I’d gotten to work at an embassy, offworld, at some point. See aliens, have some actual social _use_ for all the languages I’ve learned – it’s one thing learning a language and speaking to other Cardassians, another thing entirely to talk with someone who can _actually_ tell whether you’ve got a convincing accent or not.”

“Ah, yes,” Glain chuckled. “I had an occasion to practice a bit of Bajoran with some ah, well… Bajorans,” he told to make himself interesting. “I believe they found it offensive.” He silenced a moment to focus a little more on the more delicate part of his trick before asking again, “So, how many languages do you speak, Edar?”

“Fluently? Five; Klingonese, Rihannsu, English, Vulcan and Bajoran General Tongue,” Edar emptied his cup. “I also know some Breen, but for understandable reasons I couldn’t exactly _speak_ that language,” he chuckled, then added, “I’m currently expanding. I’d like to add Ferengi to my list of expertise, since the Ferengi Alliance is an interesting power in itself, and I’d like to expand my area of professionalism into economics – and you can’t do that without involving the Ferengi. So, you’ve been to Bajor then?” he smirked a bit. “I _would_ understand why the Bajorans would find it offensive. They are probably a bit protective about their culture now that we’ve withdrawn. What exactly did you say to them?”

“Ah, eh, it’s ah, it’s a complicated story,” Glain should have seen that question coming and focused on the screen some more. “Let’s just say I tried to help someone talk to one of those _prylars_ and it didn’t go that well,” he laughed. “But I wasn’t on Bajor, it was just Terok Nor,” he lied for safety’s sake.

The file had opened and Glain started to download the data on the PADD. He didn’t tell of his result yet however. He hoped he might shine some more by at least highlighting the parts that might be relevant to Edar.

“So, how come you were allowed to travel so far outside Cardassian territory? I mean, you’re very young, aren’t you? My uncle barely lets me leave the planet, other than to celebrate holidays with family back on Soukara.”

“Prospects,” Glain shook his head. “If I’d known I’d run into such troubles, I wouldn’t have gone,” he rolled his eyes, while starting to examine the mentions of that Delarius whatever-it-was. “It’s just that my father had an old friend in space whose child wanted to try the Cardassian way of life, especially after he, or rather she, found out she is female inside. She’s around your age and lived her entire life as a male so far, so it’s a strange period now…” he showed a bit of sympathy. “I went to take her on Terok Nor as well as a couple of ah, other persons,” he said evasively. “I’m not sure my father would want me to talk about this yet.”

Somehow, he hadn’t foreseen that Edar would immediately ask about Elem’s _mother’s_ occupation, assuming she was Cardassian and wondering _how_ she was allowed to travel out of the Union. Glain quickly had to make up a lie that Elem was probably adopted and he didn’t know the details, quickly shifting the topic back to work, asking what Edar wanted to know about the Delarius asteroid belt. The editor was pleased to see things going so fast and mentioned a conflict with some Vulcans – Glain changed the filter to find the relevant information.

“By the way, do you happen to know anything about that alien this morning?” he inquired. Edar shook his head and leaned onto the desk.

“No, all I heard was Freyar rambling about the Obsidian Order over breakfast. And _then_ my uncle came from the opposite building – he’s Chief Editor there – and wanted to know if it was true that a group of terrorist aliens had gotten captured after firing at a Notator. And _then_ Damar came, and gave my uncle an earful about information distortion, rumors and critical thinking, to which my uncle answered that that was exactly why he was here. Why, that argument got so heated, I thought they’d kiss at the end of it,” he shook his head at himself, then leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice. “My uncle isn’t too picky on whom he courts, but I doubt he’d court Damar: he’s too monogamous _and_ enjoined.”

Glain couldn’t help but laugh quite heartily. He then spinned to face the other with that gossip gleam in his green eyes.

“And what’s your uncle’s name? He must have quite some neck to argue with a Damar like that,” he grinned.

“Demeny,” answered Dayar Edar, taking some steps away to grant them both the respect of personal space, “working as an editor, he rather knows how to argue well. Some say it’s a talent wasted on him – he’s infertile – but I think he enjoys flirting with people more than making them pregnant, if you get what I mean.”

Glain did. Very much so. He just snorted a bit in understanding and went over to give Edar a clear report on the Romulan-Vulcan conflict he was interested in.

“That was fast,” Edar appreciated, ogling over the documents, “You’re really very good, aren’t you?” he looked sidewise at his colleague. “You didn’t happen to find the names of the two most prominent family members involved?”

“I can make you a list quickly,” the archivist answered. “I have this little add-on I sampled to generate genealogic trees and faction organograms in a second, but it’s on my other PADD” he sighed. “I’ll bring it tomorrow so I can share it with you if you’d be interested,” he smiled. “Coding is a convenient hobby for an archivist; in my previous position I usually made sure to be done with all my work very quickly so I could code tools to help me become even more efficient. At some point I was practically coding more than archiving,” he remembered but cared not to expand on _what_ he was coding. “My chief had many opinions about that, but she knew better than to voice them when she could dump most of her work on me and indulge in crafting hairpins. She was good at it, mind you.” He passed the PADD to Edar, “There, you’ve got them all. Is there anything else I can do?”

“Hm-no, thank you, I believe I have all I need,” Edar smiled. “And I don’t think he’s too emotional,” he added, “Conservator Rokat, your father. I quite like him.”

“I’m glad you do,” Glain got up and picked his lunch box. “If you need help again later, please don’t hesitate or I’ll probably end up having no choice but to play kotra with Freyar for the rest for my shift,” he snickered. “Otherwise, have fun with your translation,” he winked and left.

That done, he returned to the common room, finding poor Freyar, desperate over his computer. Trading gossips on Edar against doing the old man’s task went easily.

According to Freyar, Dayar Edar’s mother was a filing clerk, and his father descended from a noble family of chefs – his ancestors were founders in Soukaran cuisine. Child Dayar had been shipped to Cardassia Prime around the removal of his first molar, to be raised by his uncle who was a prominent editor already then (and half-decent translator), but Demeny had instead groomed him to become his sex pet and the two of them were lovers.

“Well, that’s just what I feel when I look at them. Don’t tell him I said that, he already punched me once, and it still hurts, in here,” he laid a hand to his chest, and smiled sheepishly.

“That can’t be true and you are wrong,” Glain decided, disgusted over the tale. “If his uncle is his only family here, they might just be very close.” Like Iltarel and Teval, it was very possible, and more plausible.

Freyar shrugged, certain that _his_ version was the real one. More positively, he appreciated that Edar was good at baking sweets – “I always volunteer to have a bite. One of these days he’ll poison me out of spite, and I won’t see it coming,” he chuckled a bit, then told that the young man liked to write but never let anyone read his texts, which Freyar assumed to be sappy poetry.

“Are you planning on courting him?” Freyar asked with interest, leaning forwards. “Surely there are other, more normal women you’d rather prefer running in pursuit of. He’s both a bit too old for you and, well, what would your father think if you asked to enjoin the child of a chef?”

“What he thinks is his own concern, not yours,” Glain took a bit of distance. “Still, it’s quite impressive to have made it from a family of cooks in some forsaken Soukaran jungle to translator in Cardassia Prime. Does make me wonder where he might end up if he can keep his ambitions up,” he reckoned. “Damar said all the good women here are either enjoined, infertile or no good prospect. Do you think otherwise?”

“I think a good woman is the kind of woman who doesn’t pretend to be a man, and who has enough decency to _refrain_ from using surgery to remove her breasts,” he made a look of dislike. “A woman’s body is State property. I don’t think I’m the only one opposed to what Edar chose to do – there _is_ medication to take against dysphoria. He shouldn’t have gone had them cut off like that.”

“Impossible,” Glain denied. “He’d be in some lab being experimented on as a test subject or something like that if he’d committed such a crime.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Freyar shook his head in dislike, “He’s going to be thirty soon, and I think he has qualities that the State will want to pass on. He’ll have to _submit_ , and the poor sod who ends up with him will have to deal with the fact that his wife will look like a mutant in whatever dress she puts on.”

Glain nodded, though he thought breasts on their own looked like some strange mutation.

“And your wife? Does she look gorgeous in dresses?” he decided to switch the topic and start fishing in another pond.

“She’s my personal comfort woman now,” Freyar chuckled and lengthily describe how beautiful she still was, even at her age.

“Aha,” Glain nodded. “But what was her job?” he asked again.

It took him a moment to understand that she actually _was_ an ex-comfort woman. He had to feel sorry for Mika. At least, her case was solved. Nall would _die_ if Glain tried to pursue the daughter of a comfort woman and an old perverted idiot. As Freyar went on ranting uselessly over his daughter again, Damar came in with an aggravated mood about himself, and went to serve himself some tea.

“I just spent half an hour getting chewed out by a legate for something I didn’t do,” he muttered and blew on the tea, “I hate this place.”

“At least the food and drinks here are better than in my previous workplace,” Glain chimed a bit. “I could help Edar with his problem; it was fairly simple in the end – for me, at least,” he told while shuffling the computer back to Freyar, with a file open displaying a simple text message reading ‘ _Ferenginar has no moon_ ’, then went over trying to fish for more information about Timun’s case to hopefully figure if that could mean bad things for him and Elem.

“Do you know if His Kovat recovered from that unexpected visit?” he asked pointedly. “I hear those reactions are pretty common… I had a colleague once who got a head commotion from fainting like that. And another one jumped through a window – on ground floor, thankfully, but he still managed to break his leg,” he chuckled.

“How skilled he must’ve been to break his leg from _that_ ,” Freyar knocked his knuckles together, wild about the topic. “I used to have a shady nephew who got taken away by the Order – he never came back. I think it’s because he indulged too much in... unlawful practices,” he lowered his voice a bit at the end.

Damar scoffed.

“Wasn’t he the one who was convinced the end and the great rebirth were coming, or something?” Freyar glared at him.

“No, that’s my grandfather, and he never got taken by the Order, he was just a bit mentally ill, is all. Also, Ferenginar has no moons, so there are no spiders. Are you sure you meant to ask me about that planet?”

“Yes.”

“...Why?” perplexed, Freyar leaned in his chair.

Damar didn’t answer.

“And do you have any idea what that alien did to get taken?” Glain went on, “I hear he spent the night at Kovat’s place? Did he try to…” he suggested.

Damar slammed his hand in the counter of the cafeteria.

“It is _none_ of our business. Now unless either of you want to be whisked away by the Order, I suggest you start working and stop theorizing about things you aren’t capable of understanding, anyway.”

Angrily, he grabbed a stick of bread and dipped it in his tea. Freyar leaned into his computer to pretend he was doing _something._

“You,” Damar pointed at Glain, “Go to the Notators on bottom floor, see if they have any files they need integrated. And while you’re at it – wait, your shift ends in twenty minutes. Ah, I guess you’ll just have to hurry up a bit.”

“Thank you,” Glain scuttered away and down the elevator.

He somewhat hoped not to run into Sayad, but froze in the corridor as he’d arrived in time to identify Dain, walking out an office from which he could hear Sayad’s angry elderly voice shouting at his back – something along the lines of “ _AND THAT’S THE LAST TIME I TELL IT!_ ”

“Yes, Magistrate,” Dain stepped away to let the door close, seemingly undisturbed by the tone. Next, he was coming toward Glain and brightened at the sight of him. “Your Rokat! How fortunate!” he waved a PADD at him and dragged him along to the common room.

“Anything you need?” Glain asked.

“Hm, some files seem to have gone missing and I thought maybe an archivist like you might have a clue as to what’s going on – I had an inkling you might be available for this.”

“That’s how it is,” the youth sighed and sat at a table with him, starting to look at the file. “It’s about Elem Kel?” he winced.

“About her mother, more exactly,” Dain clarified. “You can see the inconsistencies, I suppose… But talking about Elem, did she recover well? It’s always a bit nasty without chemicals.”

“I think she actually fared better than Kilem,” Glain answered honestly. “He got quite swollen in the jaw at night, but _she_ was oddly fine.”

“Ah, good, good…” the Notator nodded, inwardly satisfied to know the injection he’d given in the end had proven effective. “And… is she enjoying your hospitality so far? Is Cardassian food to her taste?”

Glain looked at him.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t get to extract teeth from new citizens everyday,” the other shrugged. “Especially not newcomers who are acquainted to new colleagues. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is. Talking about that, you know Kovat?”

“Ah, you heard of that,” Dain flashed his perfect teeth. “You haven’t answered my question, shall we trade?”

“Fine,” Glain agreed. “I tell you anything you want to know about the dishes she likes and you tell me about Kovat and the alien.”

“Deal,” Dain grinned.

## * * *

During his chit-chat with Dain, Glain had learned enough to get somewhat reassured concerning Timun – it _seemed_ that the alien had caused a great uncomfort to Notator Kovat by being very blasphemous and idiotic – and that definitely sounded like Timun. Glain had a bit of sympathy for him, but the alien doctor was responsible for his own fate.

Having left work a little later than expected due to that conversation,  Glain made it back to Keelani’s home just in time to have a shower, get into clean clothes and make himself pretty for the first date his father had kindly set up for him ...which turned out to be a complete disaster anyway.

Keelani scolded him after the first one, which was aborted when young and pretty Luzila Kriak suddenly decided to leave in the middle of a game of kotra; and the housekeeper had to refrain from throwing the second woman out herself – one widowed Neralina Gavang, whom Glain required to leave in cold anger. At least, this time, he and Keelani had both agreed that that one was a horrible woman. Not that it made Glain any closer to enjoinment.

He sighed and let Keelani go prepare some fish pudding for dinner while himself retreated to his bedroom with the intention to code an apology card for Luzila. He designed a graphic quite looking like an ant and started to script a little animation to have the ant sprites glide through the screen to form a message of apology. Hopefully, she’d be touched by the effort and would at least refrain from spreading the word that Nall Rokat had a _socially inadequate_ son. He was almost done when Iltarel finally arrived.

The filing clerk looked at the living room, inspected the table, looked at the glasses that still laid there, sniffed them, and joined the bedroom at last.

“It was a disaster, I presume?” he caused Glain to startle with his assumption.

“By the State, Iltarel!” he smacked a hand on his heart. “You’re home late, I was starting to think the Night took you! And yes, it was bit of a disaster. What do you think of this?” he showed his PADD and played the animation.

“You must have really messed up to have to resort to something cute like that. Why the ants however?”

“She collects ants,” Glain clarified. “Luzila Kriak. She was the first one, about my age, quite cute, sweet, soft… But yes, I really messed up. I guess I subconsciously tried to pair her up with everyone and anyone from Keelani to one of my colleagues I haven’t even met yet.”

Iltarel laughed at that and sat next to Glain on the bed.

“And the other?”

“She was an awful militarist hag – there’s no way out of a trial I could ever have procreated with her. I should have told her to leave instead of also hinting about the dirt I knew about her uncle,” he sighed. “Now I’m almost wondering if I should try to get rid of her for safety’s sake, but I don’t think father would appreciate. He’s going to be incensed…”

The albino said nothing but he clearly agreed.

“You need to start being less talkative, Glain Rokat, you _really_ need to,” he heaved at last.

“More positively, one of my new colleagues is a handsome man with female organs. Hopefully he likes men,” the archivist felt rather eager at the prospect of seeing Dayar Edar again. “And you? How comes you’re so late?”

“I had the evening shift, nothing unusual.”

“Then why did you leave in the small hours of morning?”

“I thought a walk in the morning would be relaxing,” he smiled and slipped that he had _good intel_ that Glinn Reyal’s home computers had been vole’d.

Glain couldn’t help but laugh.

“Still, your father should contact Dukat as soon as possible.”

“It’s not going to be fun discussing it with him again,” Glain set his PADD aside to lay his head on Iltarel’s lap, and pulled up his shirt to expose his belly. “Did you see?” he changed the topic.

His friend caressed the skin where scars used to be.

“I thought I noticed something this morning… You had them removed?”

“I forced that Vulcan to do it…” Glain closed his eyes. “He also made sure I’d keep no scar from the way those Maquis treated me… I was starting to quite like him, to see him more like a person. And now, I guess he’s good as dead. The Order took him this morning. He didn’t even last a day…” remorse showed in his voice. “He has a daughter that Tilayan befriended, he was going to enjoin one of Elem’s best friends…”

Iltarel patted his hair in silence for a while.

“Take no action about this, Glain. You just got rid of those scars.”

Glain purred in approval, soon starting to heave small sounds of pleasure as he relaxed in the touch. Knowing what was coming, Iltarel invited him to undress some more so they could both lay down more comfortably, and he caressed his friend’s hair and his back, detailing his every scales and lulling him into sleep for little nap before dinner.

 

Meanwhile, Keelani regularly checked on the fish pudding in the oven while going about dusting things off and readjusting the furniture. Eventually, the door chimed and she opened it to find a very tired Nall on the other side.

“May I invite myself to your house?” he asked as he entered.

“You don’t have to ask about that – you look like you need a nap –” he held a hand up and shook his head.

“To think that I’d forgotten just how much energy there can be in a small child,” he commented as he went over to the sofa and unceremoniously threw himself on it, “Blessed Cardassia that they are sleeping now – and then there’s Elem. I think I’m going to have to build a tower for her and put her away there permanently; I’ve never had to fend off that many suitors before in my life,” he stared at the ceiling with eyes that had clearly seen _too_ much for his liking.

“If only your son attracted the same attention,” Keelani told as she sat in the couch opposite to him. He looked at her in silent question – “His evening was a complete disaster –” Nall groaned and flung a hand over his eyes – “First girl who came, she was nice, but _Glain_ , he entirely lost the ability to interact like a normal person; all he did was to talk about the Maquis and how she’d probably like his work colleagues! And he didn’t ask her about herself – and the second woman, _ohhh..._ ” Keelani glared at him, “What _were_ you thinking when you picked _her_ as a possible match? I nearly killed her!”

Nall smirked.

“That was the general idea,” he told as he sat up more gracefully and rubbed his eyes, “I thought if I invited someone awful, Glain would appreciate the ones previous and after.”

“Glain ended up nearly blackmailing her with some illegal things he’d dug up about her family –” Nall stiffened and looked at her in horror. “Yes. Brilliant idea, Nall, your best yet. What’s next, setting him up with a Ferengi courtesan, so that he’ll learn to appreciate a decent Cardassian?”

Nall groaned a little and massaged his chufa, leaning forward in his seat like he were in pain.

“I’m not in the mood for being nagged,” he told her rather firmly.

“You should’ve thought about that _before_ you gave me something to nag about – I’ve rarely ever met such an unpleasant woman! No wonder she’s nearly forty and unenjoined! Her former husband is fortunate to be dead.”

“You can’t say that!” Nall burst in even further horror.

“I say what I want, this is _my_ house.”

“That you’re leisuring through me,” Nall countered crankily.

“Oh, what are you going to do, make an old woman homeless? Ha, that’d be a field day for your reputation as the _kind, forgiving_ Conservator!”

“Keelani...” he was trying to calm her down, but it wasn’t working very well, so he just gave up.

“I will not have more awful, child-beating women invited to _my_ home – and she bad-mouthed you, too! Said Glain is socially inbred and childish because you didn’t find the right punishment methods for him. To question someone’s fathership! The nerve!” – Nall snort-giggled.

“I’ve done the same on a weekly basis since I started working!” he pointed out with amusement.

“Yes, but it’s your job!”

“Keelani, dear, just because some military woman doesn’t think I’m a good enough father, doesn’t mean I’m obligated to take it personally. Now, what is that smell?”

 

Keelani had to peel off the top of the pudding to save the rest, tossing the black sheet into the trash with a discontent mutter.

“Your fault,” she scolded Nall, where he stood in the door valve and watched her, “if you hadn’t been so obstinate, I wouldn’t have burnt the pudding – do you want to stay for dinner?”

“We already ate in town,” he answered with a look to the dish, “and that looks disgusting.”

“Looks can be deceiving, especially in cooking,” Keelani answered as she started decorating the pudding with some twigs of green to make it look better, at least for Glain’s sake.

“Yes, they can be – I’ve heard that sometimes, voles resemble zabu meat. Wonder who came up with such an idea,” Nall fired at her, and she had to glare to him.

“Either you stay and eat, or you leave and sleep. I will _not_ have your disorderly behavior looming around my house and around the boys,” she walked past him and started setting the table in the dining room.

“Oh, I’m staying. It looks a lot better now that you put grass on it –” she slammed one of the plates on the table in response, and Nall chuckled to himself – “I’ll go wake them up, unless _that_ already did the trick.”

He found Glain and Iltarel in the same bed, and stood silently, watching them for a while, until he realized that the ‘ _awwww_ ’ in his head had also come out through his mouth. “Ahem. Dinner is served. Keelani is angry.”

Glain  blinked a bit more, somewhat surprised to see his father, and blushed a bit.

“We- we’ll be coming this instant,” he answered with embarrassment and mild panic. “Go ahead, we…” he gestured at his clothes.

Behind him, Iltarel just raised a hand to signify he too was awake, but didn’t dare to show his face, hiding the sheer darkness of his cheeks in the pillow.

Only when Nall left did Glain get up, not exactly daring to look at his friend. Keeping a cool head was hard enough an exercise not to add to the difficulty. Iltarel wrapped the blankets around him to get to his own clothes. The silence between them was getting heavier and heavier, and Glain figured he should be the one to break it. He was the talkative one after all, and they had to settle this problem quickly.

“I suppose it was just a natural occurrence,” he said evasively. “It’s fine. We did nothing wrong that warrants that shame face of yours, really. It’s just your body proving it’s still functioning and ready to go, which is pretty good,” he added reassuringly.

Iltarel nodded.

“I’m sorry it had to happen now.”

“Oh, come on, it’s just biology,” Glain patted his shoulder and looked at his friend’s crotch. “It’s gone already, no worries.”

The ablino turned around that instant to finish getting dressed and they quickly joined the others around the table.

Keelani served the others their food, taking her seat last, aggressively driving her fork into her fish.

“So, how’s been your day in South Torr with the others?” Glain asked his father.

“Nall forgot he’s _old_ ,” she answered before he could say anything.

A bit disgruntled, he glared at her, then cleared his throat to properly answer.

“It was extremely pleasant, but you couldn’t have picked less energetic orphans to take with you, could you?” he asked with raised eyerdiges.“I bought them a kitten each,” he continued, much to Keelani’s shock.

“Oh, so _now_ suddenly cats are allowed in your house?”

He ignored her.

“We went to see a dance show – and then one of the dancers tried to steal Elem away the one second I wasn’t watching; it’s lucky I caught that in time. But, we had garma rolls, and then we went to see the artificial waterfall. Kilem thought it was a good idea to take a swim in it,” he shrunk a bit and spitefully shuffled some fish around on his plate. “I got scolded by the guards – and when they were done, they shamelessly asked for autographs.”

“And did you?” Keelani asked.

“What?”

“Give them your signature, of course.”

He looked at her a bit weird.

“Of course I did, I’m a public person, I _have_ to be appeasing. But that must have been one of my most embarrassing moments, and I _bet_ the news of my adoption will be plastered all over the screens tomorrow,” he heaved a sigh. “I was hoping to have at least a week of respite.”

“Then you shouldn’t have gone to the Torr Sector,” Keelani said without pity.

“We got a traditional writing scroll for Tilayan. She spent a good half an hour discussing plots with an author – what else...” he laid the fork in the plate. “Glain,” he finally set his attention on him, “you have to teach Elem how to spot when someone is flirting with her. She’s completely oblivious and I’ve had to bodyguard her so many times today that she was just as much a hassle to look after as the kids.”

Glain shook his head.

“I _will_ ,” he grunted as to say nobody was going to whisk his sister away like that so easily.

Truly, he couldn’t help but feel jealous of all the attention Elem was getting, even from aliens like that Maquis, and ...Timun. His shoulders sunk a bit at the thought of him.

“I’ll have to tell her that Lykes is gone,” he sighed. “It’s the first thing I learned this morning. The Order sent an old man to have tea with his Notator’s assistant and take him away,” he summed up. “I’m not sure if the kids should hear about this. Tilayan had a good connection with Lykes’ daughter…” he comforted himself with the food, which was as good as could be.

Nall didn’t instantly answer, evasively taking some bites of his food. Concern reflected in his eyes, though.

“I hope this won’t mean they’ll want to talk to the rest of you. Or me,” he added with disdain. “I never was very fond of the Order –” Keelani made to say something but Nall waved at her to be silent – “Justice should be _public_. The way they simply make people vanish is... it serves a purpose, but if I should be completely honest, I wish they’d just make executions public instead.”

“I personally am glad that they are not,” Keelani felt the need to voice her opinion, “It’s gross, and you’ll have to forgive me, but I think it’s a little bit barbaric too. Cardassians don’t kill other Cardassians – the Order is needed because it makes it easier for the rest of us to believe in the good of each other. If we had to watch executions like that, we’d become paranoid and society wouldn’t work very well,” she bit some fish off of her fork, while Nall gawked a bit at her.

“How long have you been thinking about that?” he asked, rather fascinated.

“Nall, dear, I am offended it comes as a total shock to you that I’m a being capable of critical thinking – what do you think, Iltarel?” she pointed at him with her fork, “Do you prefer things as they are, or do you want us to descend to barbarism, like Nall does?”

Nall straightened up in offense; “It’s not what I-”

“-Let Iltarel answer.”

“Criminals are, by definition, no-longer-people ...but I share Keelani’s opinion,” the young man said. “We all have secrets and the Order is the power allowing us to keep them as such. It is enough pressure already to appear perfect and normal, and twice as perfect and normal for every little thing about us that’s out of the ordinary. We resort to tricks all the time. It’s comforting to know we can relax under the watch of the ever-caring Order,” he smiled softly. “They watch, but they pass us most of our flaws while keeping a line one mustn’t cross. I like to think of them as protective and forgiving,” he glanced at Glain. “After all, they still haven’t taken you despite your immoral disorderliness,” he teased.

“If they had to take all the sexual deviants of Cardassia, there would be nobody left in the streets but you,” Glain shot back with fake aggressivity – Iltarel snickered. “I’m glad there are no public executions,” the archivist continued, “I wouldn’t like it so much. I don’t want to know of those things. Watching trials is a lot more entertaining; we don’t need to see what comes after. It’s better left to each of us to imagine it in less or more details, based on what we’re comfortable with.”

He cut his fish in some more pieces, thoughtfully trying to find an approach for the next subject.

“Talking of those things, Iltarel told me something funny about Reyal,” he poked him with his foot under the table, as to encourage him to speak in his stead.

“Hm, true. I learned he had the misfortune of getting vole’d by his own fighting voles after they escaped their cages. They might also have outnumbered and killed his daughter’s cat. I suppose those two are going to be at bitter odds again.”

“You hadn’t told me that part!” Glain looked at him – horror washed on Keelani’s face as well. “Now I feel a bit bad for Delna” he admitted.

“That is awful!” Keelani burst out in horror as her dismay had grown bit by bit, “That poor cat! Glain – how could you _do_ something like this? You really don’t consider the consequences of your actions, do you? That poor animal! Where is Constable...” she didn’t calm down until she realized he was sitting on the floor next to her, asking for fish. “It could’ve been him!” she gesticulated to her cat, then lifted him to her lap.

“Not at the dinner table...!” Nall made a disgusted face.

“It’s _my_ table, I bought it myself,” she scratched her cat under the chin while Nall drew himself and his plate away from her.

“I believe that cat’s death was most unfortunate as Delna usually sleeps with it, but maybe she wasn’t sleeping alone that night,” Iltarel suggested. “But the good thing is that Enker Reyal won’t be able to make encrypted calls,” he hurried on, “but he might do so from work. I think you shouldn’t wait longer before _you_ make your call,” he looked at Nall. “If Reyal calls Dukat before you do, he might get the upper hand in the entire ordeal; you know how it goes with guls-” the Conservator made a face of complete unwillingness to pursue the conversation in that direction.

“So...” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning his attention to the housekeeper on his left, “you let them share the same bed?”

“Why, yes, it’s very cute – not that I’ve intentionally gone in there to ogle at them while they sleep; that would be very indecent of me.”

Iltarel blushed terribly at that mention and intently stared at his plate, and Glain looked away as well, unusually silent and discreet, as to not embarrass his friend further.

 _Oh_ , Nall thought and instantly decided he didn’t want to think about what the boys may or may not have done in that bed. That was enough to consider that the previous topic was actually a better one to pursue.

“I don’t want to be known as some rabid aggressor who attacks other people out of nowhere,” he told frankly.

“Wouldn’t be out of nowhere, though, would it? Sometimes, Nall, offense is the best defense – just like in kotra,” Keelani fed the cat some fish from her fork, which caused Nall to get a bit nauseous.

“Stop being gross,” he gave her a sad look.

“Father,” Glain cleared his throat, “ _he_ is going to attack us. It’s only normal that we show that we are aware of the threats targeting our family, and that we _defend_ ourselves against them. Attack is the best defense. We’re not attacking people out of nowhere, we protect our interests and there’s nothing wrong I can see in this.”

Nall shuffled his plate away; he looked exactly as tired as he felt, and he’d already barely touched the food.

“I understand that you are young and full of energy for these things, and that you might have issues understanding why I would be hesitant to do as you wish to, but one day, Glain Rokat, you’ll be old and tired too, and then you’ll understand, and perhaps forgive me, I don’t know,” he got to his feet. “Thank you for dinner, but I think it’s time for me to go to bed. There’s no rest to have in this house.”

“Do that, you’ll feel less ‘too old and too tired’ once you’ve slept, I’m pretty sure,” Keelani sniped after him, then turned to Glain with a headshake. “Timing not optimal,” she though to tell him.

“Ah…” the young man nodded. “Sleep well, father!” he still wished him as he left. He looked at Keelani, a bit sheepish. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but I think it’s a lot because of mother. He shouldn’t be in such a condition at his age. You’re one year older than him and look at yourself, you’re _radiant_ and still so full of energy in all the right places. I hope you’re careful, still. You wouldn’t want to end up with child at your age,” he chuckled.

“Maybe you should focus on your own descendance, Glain Rokat,” Iltarel kept on staring at his plate.

“I do, I do,” he rolled his eyes. “The fish pudding is delicious as usual, by the way,” he flattered Keelani instead. “You’ll have to teach this recipe to my wife!” he snickered.

“Ha, you be careful with what you say, or Nall will have us enjoin,” Keelani poked Glain’s leg rather indecently under the table, just to see what his reaction would be – he looked at her with surprise and a bit of shock, mostly amused by the daring, and laughed.

“Ah, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, he joked along, “but I wouldn’t want to put your health at risk.”

“We have yet to see if you can make any real woman pregnant,” Iltarel sniped sneakily. “I wouldn’t be too worried for Keelani in that regard…”

“Instead of saying stupid things, you two, tell me what you think I’m best at in matter of cuisine,” Glain shook his head.

“Sweets. But that’s all I’ve gotten to taste from you for a while.”

“Where they good?”

“Hm,” Iltarel tilted his head. “Too sweet for me, but good still.”

“And you, Keelani? What do you think? I’ve helped you cooked for the kotra circle and your friends…”

“So that’s how you plan on stealing Edar’s heart away – with sweets,” she chuckled a bit. “Well, it probably would’ve worked on your father when he was younger.” Then she served herself some more pudding from Nall’s abandoned plate, “I think you’re rather decent at fruit pies. But you _do_ add a little too much sugar; sometimes, the sweetness tends to overshine the fine flavours of the fruit. And you really should let the dough steam a bit longer before filling them.”

“Hm,” Glain nodded. “I’ll have to make sure he likes those of course. I thought I could maybe try to invite him over. Freyar told me he writes, but nobody knows what. I’ve been wondering if I could use Tilayan, by first suggesting he could try talking in Bajoran with her since she’s perfectly fluent in it. But I’d have to make it clear that she must in no way tell anything about her past or she might scare him away. Then there’s also Elem. I need her to tell me absolutely everything she knows about Ferenginar – Edar is learning Ferengi. I need to get some dictionaries,” he told excitedly.

Iltarel diluted his own attention while Keelani suggested Glain to search for dictionaries in Likrain’s stuff (her defunct husband was a linguist after all). Listening to them, the clerk thought it was always both endearing and annoying when Glain was in “that mood.” He always had such ideas. And the worst was that they often worked, oddly enough.

“I plan on talking to his uncle tomorrow if I can – he works in the opposite building, but I’m part of the shared staff. At least, with that job I have, I can make up whatever excuse that I’ve been sent to help with this or that to go talk to a bit whoever I need to,” he chuckled.

“You do that – Iltarel, do you want some more pudding?” Keelani shuffled the oven form towards him, “And what do _you_ think of all this? I mean, considering his prestations today, I have only dire prospects of his ability to charm.”

The albino kindly accepted the second serving and glanced between the two others.

“I think His young Rokat has been in more dire predicaments than this. If I remember that time when he had that flu, fell down the stairs, broke a leg and an arm and…” Everybody remembered how awful the young man had looked then. “Well, he still managed to seduce one of the nurses while in that state.”

“Two,” Glain corrected. “But I could imagine why you’d remember only one, they were identical twins after all, up to their duty.”

“I don’t want to know more about this,” Iltarel cut before he might expand. “At least you look decent, but the fact you’re hunting for enjoinment is never flattering for a potential date.”

“I’ve felt that today, yes,” Glain sighed. “A horrible feeling, it is!”

“I meant for the person you try to seduce,” Iltarel specified.

“Well, of course, that too. And I’ll have to deal with it, I suppose. I wouldn’t be surprised if Freyar _already_ told Edar of my interests in him. I didn’t even bother telling him to keep that to himself knowing he wouldn’t have done so anyway.”

“Then you have _a lot_ of work to do,” Keelani reacted. “If he’s the type that prefers knowing that success is pretty much granted if he approaches you, he’ll appreciate – however, he might be the type who will find you to be desperate, which means that in the grand scheme of things, he is nothing to you but a solution to one of your problems. And that, little-boy Glain, is something you will want to avoid at any costs. Perhaps you should rather try to befriend him.”

“I intend to do this, yes,” Glain nodded. “We’re going to be co-workers after all, and I like to have a nice dynamic, professionally speaking. At least, he seems very much into his duty, which is a sign of passion, and I like passionate people. I want to appear to him as a person, as a friend and _then_ as a potential mate if he’d agree and if he’s into males. Father gave me one year to get enjoined and have children. If I remove six months of pregnancy, that leaves me a bit over half a year of courting. Maybe a little more if that’s really necessary.” He could see Keelani judging him for the naïve calculation. “Well, I _know_ that we might not get with child just by getting enjoined; it can take some trying to get there…”

There wasn’t much about Glain that she could admire at that moment. His determination perhaps, but even that was a bit mellow.

“You do realize that sooner or later, he’ll figure out you only want him because he identifies as male, and that it serves your... sexual interests,” she pointed at him knowingly with her little finger, “and when he does, he’ll feel objectified and probably a bit deceived. Glain, sweetscale, people don’t want to be loved for the roundness of their ass, but for the brilliance of their mind – and the sharpness of their tongue. Is there _anything_ except his tan and his ass that you like about him?”

“He’s orderly and, I believe, pretty eager to help, which I find very sweet and likeable in someone – he made a custom interface to help Freyar in his work. I like that he’s into languages. It means he must know a lot of things and we’ll probably never run out of conversation topics. I think he doesn’t feel very good about himself and his life, however. He wanted to travel, but being female…” No need to explain further. “I know, it’s just been half a day, and maybe he’ll turn out to be a despicable person only interested in women and who’d rather accidentally walk off a roof than enjoin and be forced to procreate,” he reckoned, “But I need to figure out more about who he is… At least, I can feel some sympathy for him. Maybe because of Lukor…” he admitted that Dayar did remind him of his transgender friend. “I’ve yet to see him beyond all this,” he looked down a bit. “He deserves it.”

Keelani heaved a sigh – it wasn’t entirely negative, but there were still questions to be had about it. She sent Iltarel a meaningful look, shaking her head a bit.

“Just treat him like you would anyone else,” she snagged Nall’s plate entirely and continued eating his leftovers, with his fork now. “Eventually, he’ll _become_ less stigmatised, and so will your treatment of him. Nothing sends peoples alarms screaming into the air like a hidden agenda. But you are right. It _will_ take time, and in the meanwhile, you’ll have more female guests to entertain than I have chairs in this room,” she smirked a bit. “Don’t you dare get stuck up on the _one_ candidate – there are many possibilities around.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Glain agreed, “and I’m sure my search for other candidates will also help him to relax a bit – I hope so, at least. And maybe I’ll do end up falling for a woman, who knows? Anything can happen…” he said though he really had a hard time trying to believe in his own words. “Do you think I should try to ah… see a… ah… _comfort woman_ ,” he muttered the word, “to uh, get more, ehm, familiar…” his entire self stiffened with increasing horror and tension at the idea. “Could that… help…?” he gave Keelani a look of distress. Iltarel seemed to have many opinions about this, none of which were optimistic.

“I _suppose_ you could do that, just to get familiar with the physical differences,” Keelani ate a piece of fish rather slowly. “You could also ask her what women in general enjoy – though, you know that I’m always here if you want to ask me something. I’m _not_ going to show any indecent parts of myself, however. That would be _most_ disorderly –” Glain almost choked on a piece of fish at that mention and tears got to his eyes as he recovered.

“Yes, _thank you_ ,” he stared at her almost accusatively. “I’ll just try to act with the next girls as I do with friends. Women usually like me and that’ll probably be a better start, I guess. But if just _one_ of them pronounces the world ‘military’ in the same sentence as ‘children’ she’s out.”

“If you say so – Iltarel, you haven’t said a word in ages, are you alright? Would you like some lessa juice and a mumble-cookie? I made some while Glain was at work; they should have stopped wobbling by now,” she got up and rubbed her hands on her belly, glancing at Glain teasingly. “I’ll have you know that at my latest medical check-up, the doctor said I have the physique of a woman half my age – so you know, if you don’t find someone.” Then she cackled and went into the kitchen.

The young man said nothing, letting Iltarel chuckle a little by his side.

“You are more quiet than usual, still,” he glared at his friend. “Is it because of… earlier?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about and I don’t want to know about it either,” Iltarel cut short. “I just don’t have a lot to say. It’s your life. You’re trying to get enjoined. I don’t have any advice to provide in that matter and I don’t really care what happens to you in that regard. Just try not to make more enemies.”

“For one who doesn’t care, you did put together a list of candidates.”

“Just something I had laying around,” Iltarel shrugged.

Keelani returned rather swiftly from the kitchen, carrying a tray of anthracite cookies together with a crystal pitcher full of fragrant red juice, which she set on the table, just in case either of the boys would want some. Then she started removing the dishes, humming a little.

“You made that list while looking to hook yourself up, didn’t you, Iltarel?” she asked with a knowing glint to her eye, “Maybe you should try courting Elem – everyone else seems to be trying,” she snickered a bit. “I mean, you’re already practically part of the family.”

The young man looked at Keelani, a purpleness coming to his cheeks as he considered the idea.

“I- no, really, I-” he stuttered a bit in confusion. “I mean, I don’t even know her and, really, I don’t have a decent enough status,” he grabbed a cookie and quickly took a bite to have a reason not to speak. “I’d rather like to befriend her, and I doubt she’d be interested in someone like me.”

Glain stared at both Keelani and him.

“Iltarel Jarad, you’re a coward,” he shot surly. “I’ve never seen you even _try_ to court anyone, but so, you might be right. I doubt she’d be interested in you,” he snapped. “And don’t you grow interests in her. I won’t take it kindly if she were to get enjoined sooner than me,” he brooded.

Keelani grinned a bit and took the chair next to Iltarel, leaning closer than was socially acceptable – the young man tried to lean away from her but was quickly squeezed between she and his friend.

“Elem doesn’t have any status at all,” she pointed out and moved even closer, “and if you wait for someone to court _you_ , perhaps it’ll be me – I _could_ probably keep up with enjoining both you _and_ Glain, considering the sexual nature of the both of you,” she then withdrew with an amused sound. “But Glain, don’t be jealous of Elem, she’s older than you. Besides, she and Iltarel would probably be pretty ho- _cute_ together,” she corrected – not that it made the no-longer-so-pale albino less embarrassed.

Glain heaved a sigh at the last comment and got up.

“I’ll be in my room, working,” he just said and left. Iltarel moved his chair just a bit, gulping down another bite of cookie.

“What _exactly_ were you implying about my sexual nature?” he asked Keelani. “Are you under ...certain impressions?”

Keelani smirked a bit – this was getting to be rather a rewarding conversation.

“Iltarel, anyone can spot it from miles away,” she shrugged and took a cookie for herself. “You really thought you could conceal it, hm? From _me_ of all people?” she pointed the cookie at him. “If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s observing people’s sexual nature by watching their behavior.”

“My behavior?” he repeated, a different darkness coming to his neck. One of offense and anger. “And what is that supposed to mean? Please, speak your mind clearly,” he invited her to expand. “I’m here in your house, I’d rather know what you think of me.” He kept as defensive and composed as he could, but there was a mix of confusion and fear in his eyes. Truly, he wasn’t too sure what exactly the woman meant.

“I think you’re a sweet young man, who is loyal to his friends and to his own heart, and who would be fiercely loyal to anyone he enjoins,” Keelani answered deflectively. “Just because I know these things about you, doesn’t mean I think _poorly_ of you. You’re a perfectly good person.”

That was an anti-climatic answer if there was one, and Iltarel was disturbed.

“That’s not insulting…?” he frowned. “And I’ve never hid this. You’re the one concealing things now,” he got a bit angry again. “You think I have unlawful tendencies,” he made an accusative guess, pointing a finger at her, “because I shared Glain’s bed. That’s filthy!”

“Oh, come now,” she waved him away like he was an annoying fly, “I know you like to hurl insults at Glain just because he happens to prefer men, but there’s really no need to drag _me_ into it. Nor him. Honestly Iltarel, you could afford being a bit more open-minded about those things,” she tapped a cookie against the edge of the plate, so that crumbs would fall out of the fishgel topping. “You’re an albino with a medical condition, but I’ve known weirder men than you who’d been enjoined and had several children at your age – there’s _something_ in your preferences that keeps you from getting enjoined, or you’d already be. So either you’re sexually dysfunctional, incapable of charming women, romantically inept, or you just don’t prefer women at all,” she shrugged. “But you _should_ know, that waiting around to be charmed by a woman isn’t going to work out so well for you – oh, sometimes women pursue, but she’ll stop if there’s no answer. And I get the feeling you expect to instantly fall in love, rather than letting it take the time it needs to grow.” She bit on her cookie, then added, with her mouth full, “Am I wrong?”

He looked at her for a moment, thinking, then just let out a dismayed “Ah…” and looked at the plate of cookies, thoughtfully eating his.

“Romance is… complicated. I just want to have a connection with the woman I’ll enjoin, and I’d rather it be something ...strong. At _least_ on the level of understanding Glain and I have, but ...romantic, of course. I’m not entirely sure why it’s not happening. I lust for women.” He paused, glancing around before adding in more of a whisper, “I ...read,” he said. Then developed, “Literature,” he said embarrassedly. “Those books are actually ...quite pleasant and inspiring, but reality doesn’t seem anything as glorious as in those stories. If only it could be as smooth and elegant as… I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I have to make up my mind or if I just haven’t found my Iridial yet,” he flushed a bit.

“Iridial?” Keelani snorted a bit and shook her head, “You’re an engineer at heart, aren’t you, Iltarel? You don’t have to answer,” she hurried on. “Have you ever received a subspace call from a computer console that is offline? No? Which had missing components? Romance, Iltarel, is all about finding a system you can fix, a connection you can establish. You just have to look for a small, small potential... and then expand on it. Connect the wires up and _make_ the call happen. Just staring at the black screen like a vole at a bread bun in a glass jar isn’t going to do it for you.”

He sighed.

“I suppose so… Maybe I’m a bit off-putting, still. I tried to make some approaches sometimes, but I didn’t want to be an embarrassment, of course. Can I just ask you sincerely,” he swallowed and looked at her. “Do _you_ think I appear as someone who would be into ...men?” he needed to know now that she’d planted the seed. “My… behavior…” he quoted.

Keelani pursed her lips a little, slightly amused but still serious.

“I only said that to get you to talk; I hadn’t _actually_ taken much notice of much anything, except that, perhaps, you lacked romantic abilities and repress the sexual ones. However, now that you phrase it _that way_ , and those are _your words_ , it would be rather a dead giveaway that you are, considering it’s the first conclusion that lept to your mind. But I’m not the Archon of this trial; only you can tell your verdict.”

He paled a bit.

“You are vicious and I’m not deviant,” he replied. “Thank you for the food and the cookies, and for your hospitality,” he bowed as he got up. “I’ll retire to bed, and you won’t find me laying by Glain’s side again,” he assured and walked away. Keelani got up in an instant, sending the man’s back a sorry gaze.

“Iltarel, sweetscale...” she took some steps after him, then heaved another sigh and leaned on the table.

She wanted to tell him many things, most of them rather comforting, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t listen to her – in his mind, he was a deviant and disorderly, and if he was hard on Glain, it was likely nothing compared to how hard he was on himself. A surefire way never to experience any romantic joy, that.

He stopped though, just to shoot a glance at her.

“Thank you for your concern; I believe I’ll be fine,” he found the strength to smile before leaving the room entirely.

He found Glain on the bed again, half-sitting across the width of it, and kicked his legs.

“You’re going to break your spine laying like that,” he scolded him and started to undress, turning his back to him.

“What’s going on with you?” the archivist frowned.

“I’m tired.”

“And since when does that make you aggressive?” Glain rolled his eyes. “I sent the cards, by the way. Though I’d hardly call it a card for Gavang, it’s more like an official treaty of-”

“I’m tired, Glain Rokat,” Iltarel reiterated with more annoyance.

The young man looked at him and got up to put his PADD on the table.

“Then I suppose we should sleep…” he said carefully, studying the other, and starting to get undressed too.

“Yes.” A short answer.

“If you’d like, I could caress your back like you-”

“I wouldn’t like it,” Iltarel cut off. “I’m not like you and you’re not the person who should do those things to me.

It hurt a fair bit but Glain could well enough see that those weren’t usual words. He just folded his clothes more quickly to be done at the same time as his friend.

“I’ll take the top bunk,” the albino headed for the ladder, but the other stopped him.

“Luzzur,” he said and caught his arm. “What did you discuss with her?”

“Don’t luzzur me now!” Iltarel hissed and caught his friend’s forearm to free himself from the grip.

He saw Glain wince in pain and sighed. Then dragged him closer.

“She thinks I’m not giving love a chance and that I’m into men,” he finally spat out. “And she’s wrong. At least about the second part.”

“Ha...” Glain hugged him. “You’re not inbred,” he said, “but you’re clearly into men.” Iltarel stared at him, betrayed and horrified. “Oh, come on, luzzur! I wouldn’t have kissed you before if I didn’t think you might like it, and I’m pretty sure at least a part of you liked it. You didn’t want to pursue and it was probably fine this way, but I’ve often wondered if I didn’t curse you with that kiss. Come,” it was his turn to drag the other, onto the bed and he wrapped the both of them in the blanket.

“What do you mean by that? I don’t understand,” Iltarel let him love himself against him and caress the scales of his knees.

“I’ve been selfish… I didn’t want to risk a real argument with you, but maybe it’s time to speak it out...” he figured. “We call each other luzzur for a reason, don’t we? I matter to you …and you to me, very much so,” he laid his head on his friend’s shoulder. “I let you call me a deviant and all those names because our friendship is dear to me. I like you. But I think you might like me even more than you know.” He could feel the other’s temperature increase and snorted, “I never really explored that feeling. I didn’t want to burden myself with questions. I didn’t want things to become uncomfortable. And I didn’t want to lose you. That’s what makes me selfish.”

“What are you talking about? I just… I don’t understand what you mean, I’m… I’m not-”

“-You’re warm like a warp core, Iltarel,” Glain elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m not judging you, I really don’t. But you’re waiting to get chosen by someone you’ll enjoin, right? And is there a possibility that it could be so because, back then, _I_ chose you? I kissed you, but the romance didn’t happen, hm?”

“Nonsense,” Iltarel snorted. “See, you’re Glain Rokat, you can afford to do those things and get away with it but I’m not foolish like you. I’m an albino and I’m intersexed, I don’t need to be weirder than I already am.”

“You, idiot,” Glain smacked his jaw ridge against his elder’s shoulder. “People don’t care what those with lesser status are doing. It doesn’t matter if you lay with men or enjoin a comfort woman. Out of us, I’m the one who’s been at risk of exposure, because my father is a Conservator. People don’t know who Denek Jarad is and they won’t gossip if his son likes to be kissed by men,” he sneered. “You’re fishing for excuses because you want to be normal, but have you ever met a normal Cardassian? We all have our quirks, we’ve all made mistakes, we’re all flawed… So there, if you want to try it with men, do! And if you want to try it with women, try as well. What are you waiting for? And for the State’s sake, touch yourself a bit instead of doing musculation like that! You’re not keeping yourself ‘pure’ like in some stupid book, you’re keeping yourself inexperienced! Even if you’d find someone, you’ll end up so stressed at the prospect of having sex and passing for a complete idiot that I’m sure you’ll back out of the relationship before it even starts,” he scolded him and stared at him angrily. “It’s happened already, right? Right? And don’t you lie to me.”

Iltarel stared back at him, flushed and outraged. Embarrassed by neck arousal too.

“I don’t quite like where this is going,” he shot back, defensively.

“What was that? A threat? You’re a spineless coward, my luzzur, and you’re not going to get anyone with those weak words of yours. Just get that fire out,” he reached for his belly with a hand, feeling the strong muscles there and sliding down. “...Or try to stop me?” he gave him a confused look.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“...You want it?” Glain was quite uncertain as he asked his dark-faced friend.

“...No…?” Iltarel answered like he was suffering and possibly not understanding the question at all.

“So you don’t want it?”

There was no answer but an even more confused and embarrassed look on the albino’s face. Glain was about as much dismayed, but still angry.

“Alright,” he said and drew back, letting silence settle again for another while before raising his voice again.

“You are conscious that I somewhat want to slap you and pin you down the bed to yell at you some more, right?” he asked. “Now, how’s your dick?” – Iltarel closed his knees and brought them closer to his chest; Glain snickered. “You should touch yourself,” he said and got up to pick tissues, not even trying to hide that he was peering out in wakening arousal himself. “ _I_ will take the top bunk, and I _am_ going to masturbate. Maybe that’ll inspire you,” he gave his friend half of the tissues, ignoring the however-sweet sliding sensation of his growing erection. “If you’d rather I stay and show you, that’s fine on me,” he still proposed, leaning forth to murmur those words to his luzzur’s ear.

Iltarel gulped but didn’t manage to find his words in a reasonable lapse of time. Glain smirked and licked the ridges of his ear, instantly reaping a gasp and a moan. He went down to softly kiss the neckscales before retiring, much to the other’s frustration.

“If you want more, you’ll have to ask for it,” he said mercilessly before climbing on the top bunk, turning off the lights and laying there, rubbing his stiffness without caring to be too silent – but not so noisy that Keelani might hear.

Underneath, Iltarel shivered and laid wide-eyed. His throat felt like a desert and his dick ached with lust. There were so many ideas in his mind. He could clearly imagine himself climbing up that ladder, catching Glain’s hips, pinning his manhood in his friend’s ass and fucking him roughly enough to make him regret his daring. But instead, he carefully brought his fingers closer to his member. It took him a while to yield to the temptation and actually touch it _while_ thinking of Glain, but then everything went fast and messier than he’d expected. It was terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	4. I - Lessons in courting

#  Lessons in courting

The family day out in Torr had been a success, even though Elem was rather aware that it had taken its toll on Nall. Cardassian culture wasn’t so much different from any other cultures he’d visited – they had their songs, choreographic dances, fire artists, sculptors, painters and writers, and they had their peculiar restaurants for specific foods, as well as those that served only pastries – and all of it was specifically refined for a Cardassian’s taste buds. To Elem it was like discovering a whole new plethora of flavours, even though some of them he really wished he’d never discovered.

The day had been sunny and full of energy, and people had been joyful and positive, except for the moment when Tilayan pushed Kilem into a fountain and managed to convince Nall that it had been  _ Kilem’s _ idea. Elem hadn’t been watching at the time, but he was pretty sure Tilayan was lying; Nall, however, was so humiliated by the reprimands from the nearby guards that he had simply taken the story as the girl presented it, and continued to drag them all away from there rather quickly afterwards. He wasn’t upset for long, though, as they’d visited a strange shop where animals were displayed in various cages. The shopkeeper was enthused, if a little surprised, that a Conservator would come into her shop.

“Usually my upperclass visitors are those from within scientific fields; they like to provide their children with creatures to study and learn from,” she’d shown them the various terrariums, where lizards, snakes, bugs and spiders crawled around (the spiders really made Elem quite nervous). Some animals were outright deadly, others more decorative, and then there were a few that were translucent: organs could be seen through their skin. “Those are especially popular with my clients,” the woman had told.

“I want one!” Kilem had been pressing his face against the glass for a good moment, while Nall kept at a respectable distance, mostly because he thought they were sort of disgusting.

“I would rather we got something with fur,” he’d said, hoping she wouldn’t have anything like that. He was incorrect, though.

“I  _ do _ have a box of kittens someone dumped on the front porch. I was going to use them to feed the snakes, but I guess I could sell you a couple if you want,” she presented a paper box to them, in which five small, blind creatures crawled around each other, mewing pathetically.

Kilem studied them for a good while before he decided to pick the only white one available, while Tilayan picked one with red stripes.

“White cats often have issues,” the shopkeeper thought to inform him, a bit sorry.

“I know, that’s why I want one,” he beamed at her, and so that was settled.

“It’s a he,” Kilem said after inspecting his kitten’s crotch, “Maybe I should call him Iltarel, after Glain’s friend.”

“Don’t be offensive,” Elem snipped him short before Nall had the time to react to the absurd suggestion.

“Then I’ll call him Ipúmpi,” which meant ‘no-color’ and made him grin at his own genius.

“Mine’s a female,” Tilayan boasted, like Kilem’s was already inferior, “I think I’ll name her Siridian. It’s a rare color of ink,” she’d explained, which had Nall nod in appreciation of the choice.

The day lasted a bit longer than that; they stopped by a shop to get a cage and milk for the kittens – the shopkeeper made an ungodly sound when he saw the tiny creatures, and when he heard about the reason they’d been adopted, he excused himself to hurry off and save one as well.

“They are very good against voles,” he explained as he hurried, “I don’t know why anyone would want to turn them into reptile food.”

Then they went to several tailors. Elem and Tilayan stood for the fashion show, while Kilem insisted on only getting the simplest designs available for boys, because of reasons that eluded Nall a bit.

The only thing the dresses chosen by Elem had in common, was that they easily could be turned into something more gender-neutral which, even though Nall wasn’t so sure about it, made Elem rather happy.

Dinner ...was too much. Three courses, of which one was so sweet Kilem seemed to have issues keeping put in his seat. The main course, which was some kind of bird pastry, was flaky and moist, and extremely salty-sweet. Elem’s tongue was rather confused by it all, but found it to be an interesting experience. They spent the evening discussing mundane things; Nall wanted to know about Elem’s life, what he’d gone through growing up on an alien planet, how he’d gotten his occupation…

“Oh, that’s such an old photo,” he laughed a bit as he looked at the locket, “and you kept it all this time? I remember when it was taken, I had only just finished a trial when she challenged me to a game – she thought my mind would be fatigued from work, but that’s not how Cardassians work. The more stimulation we get, the brighter the thought,” he tocked the side of his head. “To a certain degree. At least enough for me to win, as usual.”

They’d come home very late, and while the children went to the bedroom, it didn’t seem like they’d fallen asleep until much later, mostly due to the kittens.

“Responsibility is good practice for a child,” Nall told, “to care for a helpless creature when you’re young develops your sense of empathy. That’s why those who go into the military end up a bit colder than the rest of us – they aren’t allowed to keep pets as children. I’ve heard stories from those who went to the Institute for State Intelligence who  _ tried _ . The pets ended up killed in front of them, brutally so. I was  _ rather _ dismayed to learn about it, but I suppose that for them, coldness of heart serves a purpose. Still,” he shook his head a bit as he served the both of them a cup of tea, “I think that we should all view Cardassia like a kitten we all must nurture and love... but maybe that’s because I’m a Conservator, and it is my role to nurture, love, forgive and listen. It’s the military’s role to fear loss, to be aware of vulnerability, and have an intimate understanding of failure, death and risk. They make for very controlling husbands,” he added in a warning voice. “I know you like weapons, but don’t go off enjoining someone from the military – they cheat, and they think you do the same, and then suddenly you have all these strict rules to live by, and  _ because _ they have a dangerous job, you won’t be allowed to keep one for yourself. You become more of a servant than a wife. So I forbid this.”

They’d talked some more, before Nall decided to go see if Glain had managed to find someone to enjoin yet, and Elem went to bed. Although he managed to fall asleep, his entire night was spent reviewing memories and replaying moments, committing faces to memory that he’d likely never need to recall. But maybe it was more the sentiment that was important, and the fact that he was home.

 

Morning came awfully soon, and Elem woke up to the odd realization that during the night, Kilem had left his bedroom to come sleep with him instead, and the small kitten had curled up in the warm hollow of his neck. Gently, he sat up and laid the creature aside with a quizzical look at Kilem. Then he decided to get up and dressed – his engineering clothes felt most reasonable as a choice, and so he walked downstairs to have breakfast.

“We eat at Keelani’s,” Nall told him as he was making a basket of boiled eggs, deep fried fish, meeka cookies, butter pastries and ginger fish juice, all of which he’d bought the day before, “Tell the children, will you?”

While Elem got back upstairs, the old man walked to the other house, where no one was awake yet – silently, he made the table, then went to Keelani’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Nall, get out,” she answered aggressively and pulled her blankets to cover herself, so he backed away respectfully and went to get the boys instead.

“Breakfast,” he told them, then frowned a little. “Glain kicked you out of the bed or something?” he asked Iltarel. “He used to kick around like those marionette dolls when he was a kid. I thought he’d shaked that habit away.”

The albino hadn’t expected to see Nall of all persons and just blinked confusedly at him, bedhead even messier than usual. Glain was first to answer as he jumped down from his bed to Iltarel’s.

“ _ He _ kicked me out,” he grinned and glanced at his father. “He’s growing up, needs a little more space…” 

Iltarel caught the foot that Glain was trying to put in his face and groaned.

“Get off, you disorderly creature.”

“Well, let me go,” the younger one laughed, pressing his foot further to dissuade his friend from actually doing so.

The albino tickled him behind the knee instead and got up.

“You’re such a child,” he sighed and put on a gown before heading to the bathroom.

Glain was next and by the time he’d fixed his hair, everybody had arrived and was sat around the table. Iltarel had made sure to save a seat between him and Elem, which Glain rewarded with a stroke of the thumb over his neckscales – affectionate but non-sexual.

“Elem,” he elbowed his sister. “Father tasked me to give you some classes,” he said but didn’t explain further, instead grabbing a pastry and serving himself some milk before changing the subject. “I got some news yesterday that you might be interested to know about, but first, tell me, how does it feel to be here? Did you have a good night? Was it nice yesterday?”

“I wish you could’ve come along,” Elem nodded a bit and served himself some food from the common plate, going on about his impressions and ending with the conclusion that he could very well see why Garak would miss Cardassia so much.

It was rather evident that Elem wished the tailor could’ve been there, too, at which Nall shook his head and rolled his eyes a little.

“That man is a convicted murderer, and he was given a particularly creative punishment. Now, I believe the State chose not to forgive him, and he’s better off getting looked after by aliens,” he nibbled some on a fish. “It was quite a trial, I believe I still have the recording somewhere – yes, I keep recordings of former acquaintances who turn out to be criminals. I consider it educational.”

“You still have that one?” Glain wondered why he was even surprised and shrugged. “I never watched it,” he told Elem. “It reminded me too much of…” He didn’t finish the sentence and just went onto talking with the kids.

Iltarel didn’t even flinch when he learned the name Kilem had almost given to his cat  _ and _ the reasons he chose that one, but Glain could tell he somehow agreed that it would have been fitting.

“You lived on Ferenginar for some time, right?” he asked somewhere in the conversation, following up with a lengthy series of questions about their culture. His sister tried to answer, painting a horrifying tale of abusive capitalism, abusive rain and abusive sexism.

“It’s really rather, ah, not a good environment for whatever woman you’re trying to charm,” he concluded. “Why would you even want to use the Ferengi culture for this?”

“Well, I think he’s probably more interested in the parts about language than ah… the rest. Do they have good food at least?” Glain frowned a little.

“They mostly eat insects,” Elem answered, “tube grubs, worms, beetles, that sort of thing.”

Nall made a disgusted face and put his food down, shuffling the plate away.

“Don’t be such a softscale,” Keelani remarked and shuffled his plate back.

“How do you even know these things?” he asked, dismayed.

“I, uh, lived on Ferenginar for a while, when I was a teenager,” Elem explained, at which Nall made a confused expression. “My mother arranged a temporary marriage contract with a liquidator, so she could observe Ferengi culture in respect to their laws –” Nall had paled to a level that almost competed with Iltarel’s complexion.

“She married a  _ Ferengi? _ ” he stared ahead of him, scandalized. She’d married a Ferengi, but not  _ him _ .

“It was temporary,” Elem pressed, “they didn’t have sex that often.”

“ _ They had s _ \- no, nevermind,” he cleared his throat a bit, shuddering. “And she was naked all that time?” Elem nodded, evasively muttering about Betazoid culture.

“Let’s just not talk about her,” Glain cut short, instead starting to talk about his first day at work and Torain Damar’s bad mood and asthma.

“You are not allowed to flirt with him,” Nall made sure to make clear, “Nor with any other  _ man _ on your workplace, or  _ outside _ it. Not until you’ve managed to get enjoined. Is that clear?” – Keelani sighed a bit, to which he added, “It is good you don’t share the same bed as Iltarel anymore. I was wondering when you’d grow up enough to realize that – don’t lead yourself into temptation. Besides,” he gesticulated a bit, “Iltarel needs to find himself a mate, too; it wouldn’t help him if he had rumors flourishing about him and  _ you _ – just because we disproved your sexual activities to Reyal, doesn’t mean people don’t still believe what he said.”

“Father!” Glain sighed. “I know better than to flirt with a Damar out of all persons! Besides, I’ve never flirted with men at work and I’m certainly not going to start now!”

Iltarel cleared his throat a little.

“I have a few things I need to sort out before I head to work; I’d better get my hands on them already,” he excused himself and left.

Glain made bit of a face and looked at his father as to say ‘ _ are you happy now? _ ’ and Keelani waited until Iltarel had left, before she smacked the table a bit.

“Nall!” she threw at him, which caught him completely off guard.

“I’m only thinking about everyone’s best-”

“-First you encourage your son to  _ cheat  _ on his future wife, and then you drive Iltarel away by implying your son is turning him into a someone who’s into men, and now you don’t even have the decency to feel bad about driving away  _ my _ guest, who is staying in  _ my _ house.”

“Which you still lease through me, so it is  _ my _ house,” Nall argued back, flashing a bit of color in his face, and not for any positive reason. “I am done being questioned by my own son, and by my  _ servant _ . Now  _ everyone _ will behave, and that’s that!” he crankily continued to eat his breakfast, while Keelani stared at him in blatant fury, before she aggressively tugged in on her food, demonstratively saying nothing.

Elem had shrunk a bit on his chair, while Kilem seemed largely untouched by it all, enjoying his food as if he hadn’t noticed anything wrong. Tilayan took it upon herself to spare everybody an awkward silence by telling some more about what she liked in the Torr sector and then, when the atmosphere relaxed a little, asked Keelani for advice about the kittens – a topic Keelani was talkative about.

Soon enough, Glain dragged Elem to the bedroom. Iltarel was occupying one of the two chairs, and the archivist was mindful to ask him if he didn’t mind them sitting on his bed. Iltarel paused and looked at Elem with a bit of hesitation, then at the only other chair in the room. He let out a small grumph and took his PADDs to go sit on his bed instead.

“You can have the chairs,” he just said.

“What about your spine? Is it no longer bad to sit in the bed?” Glain squinted at him. 

“I’m stronger than you.”

“You have bad bone density.”

“For which I take medication,” Iltarel glared at him.

“Fine then,” he invited Elem to sit with him at the table. “So, I learned yesterday that Lykes didn’t last a day. He was picked up by the Voles just a bit before I arrived at work. That poor Notator who registered him fainted when he saw the agent in his office.”

Elem leaned more comfortably against the chair’s backrest as he figured what ‘the Voles’ were. Then started chuckling a bit, hiding his mouth behind his hand and turning away a bit in an attempt to cause it to stop. Eventually, he got his calm back.

“I hope they kill him,” he said pleasantly.

“The rumors would have him end up in forced labor, because it’d be a waste to pass on such a potential good worker, athletic and strong. They say he’d do great in mines,” Glain said and licked his lips nervously. “We traveled with him, they know it of course. We have to be prepared for the eventuality of a visit. There might be questions for us too,” he said with a bit of concern.

“That could be interesting, I’d do anything to get rid of him, anyway,” his sibling muttered, then glanced at Iltarel, a bit distracted by his presence. “What are you working on?” he asked.

“Hm? Just reviewing a study about a new type of focal crystal that would allow to engineer torpedoes with a completely new technology that could include sensors capable of leaching on residual tachyon particles. If it were to work, it could be a way to target cloaked ships, but the research is going slow because they are in need to field test the prototype. And of course, they would require to target some cloaked ships and… Well, you can understand the problem,” he chuckled a bit. “ _ The research team suggested that cloaked ships might be illegally present within our borders, and that tachyon sweeps could allow to find some to destroy, but Gul Remad replied that if tachyon sweeps are sufficient to locate the ships, manual shooting should ensure their destruction, _ ” he read. “ _ Asked for her hopes concerning the future of her studies, as budget cuts are envisioned, Larayal Sadar’s bitter answer was: a war with either the Klingons or the Romulans. _ ”

Iltarel laughed a bit and then looked at the others and calmed down instantly, trying to retrieve a more formal composure in front of Elem.

“Seems like a plausible idea, though,” that one agreed. “Unless the enemy creates fake targets, in which case a manual system would be preferable, I guess,” he frowned a bit. “Automated systems always have that downside, don’t they? Can I read?” he asked, anyway.

“Of course,” Iltarel handed her the PADD. “It’s in Kardasi, I’m not sure all the terms can be translated automatically with perfect accuracy. If something sounds strange, just tell me so I can translate it for you,” he warned.

“You,” Glain suddenly pointed at Iltarel, “You remember what I told you not to do yesterday, right?” he glanced between him and Elem.

“Go to work or something,” the albino glared at him.

Glain looked at his sister.

“Father told me that when he wasn’t monitoring the kids he constantly had to fend off men trying to flirt with you and you didn’t even  _ realize _ it’s what they were doing. You’re not going to get out of this house before you have a better grasp of those those things. It’s not even like it’s complicated!” he was a bit annoyed. “First, it’s flatteries: they try to appear nice, gentle and charming, and try to figure out what you’re interested in – if they arrange situations for you to demonstrate your intelligence and then compliment you, then they’re probably bad suitors who just want to quicken the process in order to just have sex,” he warned. “Compliments should be based on natural events. Second,” he counted with his fingers, “they start challenging you intellectually, often with something as innocent as  _ can I read? _ ” he mimicked her and gestured at Iltarel’s PADD. “They show interest in what you’re doing and give it a try if it’s not too remote from their own interests and capabilities. At that point they’re not conflictual yet; they tease at best. Then,” he added a third finger, “they start to argue, to get your attention and show what they’re made of. There, it’s  not so hard, is it? Compliment, Challenge, Argue: the three K’s,” he briefed, unaware that the three key-words were translated as Argue, Argue, Argue.

Elem couldn’t help the rather intense blush rising on his cheeks, and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to read the PADD anymore, or if Glain was going to see it as improper.

“I just wanted to read,” he stammered, then cleared his throat and avoided looking at Iltarel, “and besides those are not three K’s, it’s three A.” Still, all of this was most useful for his meet-up with Dain.

Glain rolled his eyes and wrote the words Kilanú, Kedrakt and Kamarú on a PADD.

“You can read with Iltarel if you want, but try to keep it easy on him. He had a ...hard night,” he couldn’t help but tease him. “I’m leaving you two together for a moment and I expect you to behave like proper adults,” he told before exiting to search for dictionaries in the locked room, letting Iltarel take his chair.

“So if  _ all that _ is proper courting, then what is it like to just... socialize?” Elem wondered out loud, looking at Iltarel with a dismayed frown at the center of his forehead, “And how do you approach someone if you  _ just _ want sex, no romance?” he continued, though he wasn’t sure exactly how fair it was to ask those questions to Iltarel.

“Hm, I believe Glain just quickens the process?” Iltarel said, a bit embarrassedly. “I’ve seen him do this sometimes, testing the waters and then… It’s a bit obscene if I should be honest. His every movement gets charged with sexual energy, his eyes hold that gleam…” he shook his head and crossed his legs tightly. “Socializing is… I believe it’s more like those dinners you’ve had with your family? Except for your father and Keelani, of course…”

“There really is something between them, isn’t there?” Elem shared his suspicions, lowering his voice a little. “That makes his outburst at her even more rude, he called her a  _ servant _ . She got very offended, I think.”

“And she’ll make him pay,” Iltarel assured. “But don’t tell anything to Glain. He hasn’t realized yet and I made a bet with myself as to when he will. I’d like to see if I was right, and he doesn’t deserve to be pointed what’s right under his nose.”

Elem leaned back in his chair and thought about Dain; he couldn’t very well ask Glain to look up any details about him, but maybe Iltarel could.

“Say... you don’t happen to have access to any sort of personal records, do you?”

“I might,” the albino said cautiously and leaned forth. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“I won’t tell him about Nall and Keelani, if you won’t tell him of this person I want to look up,” Elem bargained. “His name is Sokal Dain, he’s a Notator, the one who recorded me. I’d like you to just... see if he’s enjoined, how old he actually is, what interests he has, and hobbies. You know, just mundane things like that.”

Iltarel barely raised an eyeridge.

“When do you see him?” he asked, concealing any emotion.

He couldn’t help but be rather amused. Somehow, he hadn’t imagined that Elem would be so alike Glain in that regard. Or maybe she was just conscious of her need for a status. She was blushing a bit in embarrassment.

“Tomorrow. I  _ promised _ to keep it a secret, but I’m not entirely sure  _ why _ he wants it to be a secret – if it’s that he’d be ashamed to be openly associated with a half-breed, if it’s work ethics, or if he’s cheating – and I really don’t want it to be that last one. I don’t want to get involved with that –  _ Glain  _ might not mind committing sexual acts with married men, but  _ I  _ do. I don’t want to be an awful person – not that Glain is awful... well, he is, a little bit, but you know what I’m trying to say.”

Iltarel snickered at that.

“If he was the one to propose the date while on duty, then that could be reported-”

“-Don’t report him!” Elem burst out, rather horrified, then calmed a bit as the other smiled.

“I won’t – I have no business doing that. I’m leaving in half an hour. Do you have a personal comlink I could send the information to when I have it? Or I suppose it can wait until I come back home,” he thought was another possibility, then even continued, “That is, if you wouldn’t mind the two of us debriefing together about science papers and engineering,” he suggested, trying to see if that was a good enough attempt at flirting, and if she’d catch it.

“I don’t have a comlink yet – and besides, I think it’d be safer to talk about it. Someone could find the message laying around, and I don’t want that,” Elem took a breath through his mouth. “When do you come back from work?”

“Do you want to meet here or at your father’s place? I would have proposed to take you to a teahouse, but I’m not sure your father would agree…”

“I thought you were going to say that  _ Glain _ wouldn’t agree,” Elem admitted with a snicker, “considering the insinuations he’s made...” he shook his head a bit and leaned back in his chair. “We can meet here; there’s no need to challenge his authority, and I’ve only barely arrived.”

Iltarel laced his fingers together as he nodded, and smiled a bit more, starting to look a bit more like a person than a marble statue.

“So, you noticed my flirting?” he asked. “Don’t worry, it was only to test you ...and practice for myself. I’m not so distasteful as to start courting a person with views elsewhere.”

“...I didn’t,” Elem admitted after a while of staring at him, then shook his head a little. “You were flirting? I thought you were just trying to be friendly,” he looked desperately at the wall, then at Iltarel. “Where I come from, it’s a lot more obvious – and... people often initiate with more than one person at the time, and the one that feels the most right is usually the one they end up picking. Unless they are those kind of persons who have several lovers at the same time – I don’t mean cheating though, just consensual... openness or something.”

“You mean that… the sort of thing Glain does here would be legal there? I don’t mean sleeping with enjoined men, but with those who aren’t,” he specified. “Or like those twins,” he rolled his eyes. “Disorderly creatures, all of them.”

“As long as everyone consents, yes, it’s perfectly legal,” he looked at Iltarel for a moment, licking his lip to try and say what was in his mind. “I haven’t had sex that many times,” he admitted, “and never with more than one person at a time. The fact that it could be considered disorderly is also what makes it... good,” he patted the table a couple of times, “but it’s a topic I’m not very well versed in, really; I only started having sex some month ago.”

“Ah?” Iltarel felt a little relieved not to be alone to be late with those experiences. But the topic was too improper for him however. “You… you should have picked the clues,” he looked at the table instead. “When I tried to flirt,” he clarified, “I changed my body language to make it warmer. But maybe you didn’t notice because you don’t know me that well,” he reckoned. Then stopped and covered his face with his palm. “Well, I  _ suppose _ that could also explain why women I’ve fancied don’t really pick those clues either,” he realized painfully, feeling like an idiot.

“Maybe if you practice some more on me – or on Glain – you’ll improve? I wouldn’t know, I’m apparently very bad at picking up the signs... but I did pick up the way Dain looked at me,” Elem grinned, then realized he was grinning and stopped. “It  _ does _ feel rewarding to be desired, you know?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t think it happened to me so much. If it did, I probably didn’t notice, or didn’t welcome it,” he admitted. “I’m not sure anyone would lust for me, really,” he straightened up. “Except that walking disorder of a friend I have, but it has nothing to do with me. And I don’t want to talk about it,” he cut short and gathered his PADDs before getting up. “I should get ready to leave. It was nice talking with you, and I hope I won’t find anything deplorable about this man,” he said quite formally and headed for the door.

Elem felt a sting of pain for Iltarel, but rather than voice his concerns, he got up and followed him to the door.

“Have a good day at work, Mister Jarad,” he wished him, just as formally, figuring that the man might find it to be a more comfortable way of speaking.

##  * * *

Glain’s day at work started casually with harmless chit-chat and eagerness to tackle errands. As such, he had the chance to meet more people to assist with various issues that were so minuscule that he quickly figured his new colleagues mostly wanted to take a look at him. Some dared to ask about his father and Glain had to act smooth and nice, especially when a few asked if it was true that the Conservator had  _ adopted _ children.

“Why, wouldn’t you want to ask  _ him _ personally?” Glain asked instead, laughing brightly. He still had no will to discuss such family matters.

He soon enough managed to find a reason for himself to leave the building altogether and head to the opposite one, where he easily found the Chief Editor’s office. His task was nothing too suspicious; it was quite normal for a newcomer to tour around the facilities like this. With a box of datarods in his hand, he knocked at Demeny Edar’s door.

“I was told there are some backups to gather for the data integrity check-up,” he excused himself, giving the room an impressed look.

Demeny’s office was far more luxurious than that of his nephew – he had a towering desk which  _ faced _ the door, computer modules featured inside of the table, and the chair he sat on was slightly elevated, so that anyone who entered might do so while he towered over them, illuminated from behind by a lighting array that was purely aesthetic. Glain could very much appreciate that.

“I’m also here to run a lesser stress test on the nadion defragmenter and fix the tetrion couplers to the dead archives operating system, but I suppose that’s more of a joke on me,” he grinned. “I’m Glain Rokat, I started at the Alien Affairs yesterday.”

“You work under Damar, don’t you?” Demeny stared down at him. As far as men his age went, he was quite attractive, but the boy’s interruption had caused an otherwise pleasant face to become stern and annoyed. “He sent you  _ just _ to mess up my schedule, didn’t he? That man holds onto grudges like roots do soil,” still, he climbed down from his seat and waved to it, “You may as well do your thing. I’ll be in the common room if you need me.”

“Your Edar,” Glain interrupted him, “I’m quite conscious that I’m intruding, but if I should be honest, I don’t believe I need disturbing you so much. I’m fully capable of acquiring those back-ups while you work, he gestured at some panels at the bottom of the platform and took an eyepiece from his pocket, setting it under  his ridge – it wasn’t a starter model. “Unless you’d like to give His Damar full satisfaction, of course.”

“Alright,” Demeny sighed and climbed his chair again, getting on with his duties, “as long as you don’t tell him you didn’t disturb me. I think his entire reason for sending you here was to plague me in his ever so passive aggressive way, and he won’t stop until he feels I’m sufficiently upset,” he shook his head to himself.

“Of course,” Glain said and set to take off a panel in order to access the guts of the computer. “The backup should take a little while, but I’ll be discreet,” he put the panel away and started to inspect the system.

The two buildings used to be part of the Bureau of Alien Affairs, several decades back, and the computer systems were still synched as one down to the core, which gave Glain a good occasion to peek a bit in what was going on in the various services and hunt for irregularities to be fixed, flows to be improved and get a general feeling of the overall psychology reflected in the organization of files and servers. Every once in awhile, he switched the datarods on which he gathered massive copies of files to keep on the task. At the same time, he monitored Demeny’s activity to observe what he was doing. When the man was finally done with his file and started to fidget around a bit before getting onto his next task, Glain unfolded himself with a little sigh.

“I think I could afford a little cup of something,” he said. “Would you like me to bring you something from the common room?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I think I’ll join you there,” Demeny figured as he got down from his chair again, stretching his sore neck.

As he accompanied Glain and they walked through the significantly brighter corridors of the wing, he figured something else.

“So, you’re that Rokat that my... that Dayar has been telling me about? You should be careful around him,” he added wearily, “he’s my nephew, you see.”

“Oh, he told you about me?” Glain snickered. “I’m flattered, though I would suppose it would be because of my father, Nall?”

Demeny stopped them both and looked at Glain thoroughly.

“What are your intentions with my nephew?” he required to know, “I do remember those rumors former Gul Reyal spread about you, and although it turned out that you weren’t infected by that sexual disease and his main points fell, fact still remains that the story wasn’t  _ entirely _ rebuked. If you think you will get to my son – I mean nephew – so easily, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint. He’s a decent young man, and he deserves a decent,  _ loyal _ and  _ serious _ suitor, not someone who sticks himself in all the possible places – oh, I don’t judge you for being frivolous, it’s just that you must choose your options, Glain Rokat, and understand that certain choices you make will close the doors on other options.”

Glain allowed himself to blush a bit in outrage.

“Your Edar, those are  _ harsh _ allegations, but if it reassures you, I don’t flirt at work; my record is spotless in this regard, and I seek to settle,” he held himself straighter. “But to answer your question, I am new here, and I seek to make friends. Your nephew simply happens to be in the age range of people I usually befriend,” he smiled more sweetly, trying to be appeasing, in case someone might happen by.

Demeny hummed a bit brashly as they got back on track and into the common room.

“There  _ are _ , indeed, rumors that you are looking to get enjoined,” he stuck to his impression of Glain’s interest in Dayar. “I don’t want you to give him ideas and then leave him disappointed. If I catch you toying with him, I will make sure that your father hears of it, and it won’t be very flattering.”

He took a cup of plain, hot water for himself, along with the driest piece of bread he could find in the basket. He was smart and perceptive, and nothing Glain could say was going to blur that sharp sight of his – Demeny Edar was Chief Editor of all news in Lakat, a very high position he didn’t get and maintained by gobbling sweet smiles and pleasant lies.

Of his conversation with the young Rokat, he fished that the boy must indeed be inbred like a confused rekel chick to bother pursuing Dayar instead of a normal woman, and that he had a dear friend, shy with women and unenjoined yet – Demeny made a note for himself to look up that one later; it was always interesting to check the vesala to get a better picture of someone. Especially when they were a fine silver tongue like Rokat. After all, there could still be a good person beyond the good words. But for the time being, he held the line with such firmness that the young archivist ended up resorting to a level of eloquence that was getting to be about ridiculously disproportionate, to simply ask if he was still allowed to befriend Dayar at all.

“I may have a reputation that does naught but disservice to me, but I assure you, Your Edar,” he spoke, once back to the privacy of Demeny’s office, “to my friends, I am loyal and faithful. I do no harm to them and I do not betray them. If you’ll allow me to become more acquainted with Dayar, I promise you that I’ll always be eager and diligent to do all I can to aid him and bring smiles on his face and happiness in his heart, for it is how I treat my friends. And now, I must ask you…” he looked at him more humbly, with less composure and more uncertainty in his eyes, “May I, please, have your answer, Your Edar…?”

He truly was Glain Rokat, son and legacy of his father, the Conservator, but also Glain Rokat who talked too much. Demeny’s expression grew into something more amused as he watched the young man: he could easily have said such things with such boldness when he was that age, if he’d had the virtue of being fertile.

“No,” he answered simply, “you’ll be casual and normal around him. If you still feel like pursuing this in a month’s time, maybe I’ll consider it. Now, carry on with your tasks, Your young Rokat.”

Glain was defeated but not beaten. He could afford a month in his calculations.

“As you command,” he bowed down and obeyed. He could feel the twist of anxiety in his guts, as every time things weren’t exactly going his way, but he wasn’t the sort to give up so easily. 

It didn’t take much longer for him to finally be done and set the last datarod back in the box. Polite and formal, he took his leave, and, back to his common room, he mostly chit-chatted with Freyar while coding a program to generate animated cards more easily and efficiently. He had a feeling it would be useful in the near future.

##  * * *

Come midday, Nall had decided to pay his workplace a visit, bringing Tilayan along with him, as he was dead-set on convincing her to switch her interests from medical science to law – after all, he’d said, she’d make a very attractive Archon, if she ever chose to pursue the career, and he wished she would, so that at least  _ one _ of his children might carry the family name as high as he had. Kilem had been left behind with strict orders to take care of the kittens, which he did under the advice of Keelani, feeding them and nestling with them in the main house’s kitchen.

This all had left Elem in the relative privacy of Glain’s former quarters, where she’d decided to put on the blue dress Nall had bought her the previous day, and some makeup, to see if she’d want to dress up for the morrow or not. The dark lipstick she’d gotten from Garak brought back indecent memories, but they ebbed out into a more melancholic silence as time went by. The dress was court and modest (except for the neckline, which revealed more scales than could be considered innocent), not as comfortable as the one Garak had sewn, but then again, that one had been tailored specifically for Elem; this one was premade, and would need some modifications to become something to wear more often.

It wasn’t until she’d twirled a couple of times, that she realized Iltarel had entered, silent as a white shadow. Instantly, and for reasons she wasn’t sure of, she’d tried to cover herself with her arms.

“Oh, I didn’t expect you so early. Did you find something?” she took a breath and recovered a normal posture.

“I… I did, yes,” Iltarel stuttered at last and turned to the side, staring at the wall, hands crossed behind his back while Elem sat on the chair next to the mirror and leaned an elbow on the desk. “I’m ...sorry. I should have knocked,” he cleared his voice a bit. “He’s ...not enjoined,” he spoke to the wall, “but he used to be. For two years, with a certain Saima Garidan, who was studying medicine, also to become a Notator. Their union didn’t create any child and so they had to investigate their capabilities to procreate. The suspicions were looming over Dain, considering he was the third child of his parents but the only one to live out of the womb. Still, he proved perfectly fertile. His wife didn’t, and they had to disassociate, but kept on living together for some time…” he said with a bit of suspicion. “She left after some months and resumed to studies in Culat where she graduated to become a doctor and researcher in matters of fertility and infertility. But recently,” he turned to Elem again, “she came back to Lakat.”

“Their relationship sounds like it might be very much alive,” was the conclusion Elem was certain both of them had drawn. “That’s awkward.”

“It’s a possibility,” Iltarel nodded. “Still, what it sounds like or what it looks like isn’t always what it  _ is _ like. They might have remained friends. Maybe His Dain would have some more information to provide. ...Including the knowledge, maybe, of where Garidan is staying at the moment, as she seems to be hosted by someone, considering she hasn’t taken a hotel room. She might be with her own family, of course, but I couldn’t verify that,” he smiled. “Then again, I am being hosted by Keelani and I’ve slept in the same bed as Glain but we do not have any sort of affair. We never were enjoined either, of course,” he let himself appear a little smug and looked at Elem some more, in this dress and this makeup. She did look more feminine this way, and the blue was fitting her very nicely.

“So… you’re suggesting I’d ask him? Don’t you think he’d find it a  _ bit _ unsettling that I’ve violated his privacy by looking him up?” Elem sighed and leaned his forehead against his hand, then squinted a bit at the woman in the mirror. “I wish it were possible to be  _ both _ man and woman at the same time. I have to admit, I feel equally as uncomfortable wearing either skin, even though I’m a lot more amiable towards this dress, seeing how Elem was locked away all my life.”

Iltarel nodded though he wasn’t entirely certain he understood the exact concept.

“I know it’s a bit embarrassing having to be only one, but we don’t really have much of a choice,” he looked down a bit. “I personally find such ideas to be rather confusing. Even though I often wish I would have been sorted as woman and allowed to pursue a more feminine career, I deem myself fortunate to be legitimate as a male.” The topic was making him a little uneasy. “Concerning  _ Dain _ , it is no violation of privacy to look someone up. It is a display of interest – it was extremely rude of Glain not to have looked up those women he met yesterday, though he did find the time to gossip about that alien. With Dain.  _ He _ looked you up,” Iltarel pointed.

“Of course he looked me up, he’s the one who recorded me,” Elem pointed out with chuckle, not entirely understanding what Iltarel was talking about now. “So you mean he expects me to know about him and his previous enjoinment?”

Iltarel sat on his chair – or rather, the one he was used to sit on in this room.

“I don’t think he’ll have expectations. You’re new here. I think he’ll rather be curious to see how you’re integrating,” he smiled. “Glain didn’t tell me what questions Dain asked about you. He’s such a self-centered idiot that he probably did not realize his new colleague had interests in you. That’s so typical of that boy,” he snorted.

“It’s probably better that he doesn’t know,” Elem hummed. “You and Glain are really close, aren’t you? Almost like brothers. Being an only child, I imagine it must be very comforting for him.”

“We’re ...special friends,” Iltarel agreed shyly. “I suppose it’s comforting to have someone close to count on and call luzzur. He’s still so young…” he smiled with a certain fondness. “He has a lot of energy, enough to be dangerous to himself at times. Sometimes I wonder if I must let him be hurt again so he might learn,” he closed his eyes and sighed.

Elem thought of Garak, then of Maniel, then of the reflection in the mirror. Luzzur... Melekor heaved a sigh, and watched Elem do the same.

“Glain is lucky to have you. Just like I was lucky to have Maniel,” he smiled a bit and turned to Iltarel. “I don’t know if Glain told you of him. Perhaps I shouldn’t either – if time is a web, he’s stuck in the past, and so is a part of me. The wire that ties me there will get thinner and thinner until it snaps, and then I will have lost that precious part of myself,” he tapped his fingers at the edge of the desk. “Luzzur is a good term for what I would’ve called him.”

Iltarel observed her, diverting his eyes quickly to his knees when she looked back at him. Then glanced up at her again.

“He must be very important to you then. Where is he now? Anywhere you could call him on subspace?” he asked. The shift he observed threw a dark feeling inside him. “I’m sorry,” he looked down again. “Is he…?”

“His duty killed him,” Elem simply said, as he felt an unsettling amount of emotion rising in the pit of his stomach. Still, he made sure to smile in Iltarel’s direction. “Did you find anything more about Dain? Something I could use to make him happy, maybe?”

The albino got up to sit both Elem and himself on the bed and patted her knee in some awkward attempt to offer a bit of comfort.

“Highlighting some tax records, I found that he regularly donates some money to a pet shelter, and he seems to have won a prize two years ago, granted by the Takaran Institute of Fine Arts, from a contest. It wasn’t a lot, but it’s still rather impressive and unexpected. I didn’t have the time to search for the details, but from what I gathered, it had to do with either ceramics or fashion.” He paused, amused. “I know, it’s almost the same thing,” he tried to make her laugh, without much success.

“Then I cannot wear this dress,” Elem realized instead, looking down at herself. “I’ll have to wear one of the two Garak made for me, they are better – this one is good, but it doesn’t have a perfect fit. Then again,” he figured further, relaxing a bit, “if it’s not perfect, he might offer to fix it for me.”

“Oh, and the Order knows where those things can go…” Iltarel grinned, then straightened up a bit, looking at Elem, at the blue on her chufa and neck scales, at the dark hue on her lips. “You’ve really made yourself into a woman… I somehow  _ hope _ Glain wasn’t the one to teach you how to put makeup…”

“No one  _ made _ me into a woman,” Elem glared at Iltarel, though he couldn’t make himself entirely angry at him. “Would  _ you _ want to be turned into a woman?” he teased back.

The young man tried to discern whether it was a joke or honest question for a moment.

“A woman is smart, intelligent, beautiful, delicate and elegant,” he said and laid fingertips on Elem’s slender shoulders. “I believe you can quite qualify as one,” he nodded and took his hands back to himself, rolling the squareness of his own shoulders. “I do not think of even trying to ever pass as one. I may dream of being allowed to rival in intelligence, but my body clearly holds the strength and hard scales of a male. They may be pale but they are tough, I assure you,” he stated factually. “Feminine attributes on me would be but an insult to femininity itself and to persons who wear them well, such as you.”

“Aside from the  _ delicate _ part, I think you qualify for those things already,” Elem pointed out as she got up again to take the dress Garak had gifted her after their last night together, contemplating whether to try it on. “And I certainly wouldn’t be offended if you tried some femininity. In all honesty, more men should – what flatters women very often also flatters men, but men seem to forget that, maybe, women might appreciate the same aesthetics as them, sometimes.”

Swiftly, he decided to try the other dress on again and started getting out of the blue one, to slip into the more comfortable one, nearly dislocating his left arm as he tried to close the zipper in the back.

“There,” Iltarel held her and closed the zip for her. “It fits you perfectly,” he noted. “That tailor is pretty good. If Dain really is into fashion, the bar is set high if he ever tries to impress you with this. But maybe he has more flattering tastes in clothes than the men you speak of. Maybe  _ he _ ’ll let you put a dress on him,” he teased.

“I’m not sure he’s the type who would do that,” she turned to him with a smirk. “Somehow it feels like he’s more the type to prefer elegant menswear – you, though, I think the right dress would be plenty flattering on you, except you’d probably die rather than try.”

The young man laughed.

“You’re absolutely right about the last part. I do not believe  _ a second _ I could look anything but ridiculous in womenswear. Now,” he took a step of distance to observe the woman in front of him, “you do look good in this. And I suppose I should return to Keelani’s before Glain arrives.”

As they left, they continued discussing – Elem switched the topic back to the PADD Iltarel had let her read in the morning, asking why Cardassia hadn’t developed its own cloaking technology – budget?

“Philosophy,” Iltarel corrected and crossed his hands behind his back. “Cloaks are a tactical advantage, but a good Cardassian captain should be fully capable of winning a fight without resorting to such tricks. We prize simple yet powerful technology over sophisticated devices. It’s the mind that must be sophisticated. If you let the machines do everything for you, you become less vigilant. If you start using cloaking devices, you feel naked without them. Many in the military believe that if we were to use cloaks, we would turn into cowards fearing a confrontation. In order to survive, we must feel the edge of danger. Too much comfort softens the mind, and we must stay sharp. Leave it to the Romulans to resort to such devices to hide their incompetence, and to the Klingons to make up for their absence of a brain,” he told. “Gul Remad has his point in this interview, though I personally think that being able to destroy cloaked ships would be most exciting,” he smirked cruelly.

“Mmh, true, but seems to me like cloaking devices  _ would _ still be useful to the military – for target practice. Besides, there are other situations than  _ battle _ out there, ones where cloaking devices might prove helpful.”

“I believe the ones who could have use for cloaking devices would be the Obsidian Order, but they are not allowed to own any military ship ...and all Cardassian ships are military of course.”

“The ones you know of,” countered Elem, “They could always build  _ non-military _ ship for themselves – maybe they already  _ have _ cloaking devices, for all we know. They seem innovative enough to possess the skills, resources, smarts and time for it,” he smiled a bit, and couldn’t help but to think of Garak; a thought he instantly smacked away, just as the door shut behind them and they crossed the path to Keelani’s house.

“Your Kel, you should maybe refrain to speak with such enthusiasm when it comes to the Order,” Iltarel whispered to her. “Show too much interest and they could whisk you away… After all, you may be fertile but you have no status…” he warned.

He interrupted himself as he heard hurried footsteps behind them.

“Iltarel!” Glain slapped his hand on his shoulder. “If one Demeny Edar contacts you, you are courting someone already and I forbid you to agree to meet Dayar,” he said. “Wait, no. Meet him, but I forbid you to fall in love with him!” he pointed. “Not that I think His Edar would do it so soon, but he might want to spite me or test me further, ah… What a man and what a protective father,” he sighed. “I can’t fault him though,” he laughed and looked at Elem. “That’s a very fine dress,” he noted. “From Garak, I presume? Quite a pity his talent goes wasted on those Bajorans,” he shook his head and silenced himself with a finger before entering the house. “So, how’s been your day?” he asked his sister.

“Full of intellectual challenges – I read the article Iltarel gave me earlier. We were just discussing it when you came in like a conversational assassin,” he pursed his lips a bit. “Nall took Tilayan to work. He hopes to convince her to become Chief Archon one day – it seems your legacy isn’t to his liking,” he snorted a bit. “So, you’ve found someone to enjoin?”

Glain rolled his eyes at the tease.

“To befriend. One step at a time,” he corrected. “And I don’t want father to hear about this yet. I still need to keep open for any possibility, and that is going to include a lot of women.” He looked at Elem again, though. “Honestly, I don’t see Tilayan becoming an Archon, but if it suits father to dream about it… Meanwhile  _ I _ gave a wonderful speech. I believe he would have reckoned the talent I no-doubt inherited from him,” he chimed. “...A pity however that it wasn’t more successful than I hoped it would be, but it’s not all so surprising considering that conservation is more an apology than persuasion. And I’m a helpless cause, guilty as charged,” he reckoned and sunk in the sofa, a little defeated.

Iltarel stood behind him and laid his hand on his neck, instantly causing him to bend forth just enough to ease massaging of the back of his neck and head.

“Ha, yes, now that’s welcome,” he purred.

Elem sat in the opposite sofa and watched the other two for a moment, then shook his head a little and started re-reading on the PADD instead – or at least pretending to.

“Isn’t it a bit vulgar to be doing that in front of someone else?” he asked awkwardly, feeling a bit like a third wheel of sorts.

“It’s-”

“-Somewhat improper,” Iltarel cut off, flushing a bit and removing his hands – Glain let out a sound of dismay.

“Luzzur…!” he whined and got slapped on the back of the head as a result.

“You’re being really indecent, now,” his friend scolded him. “I’ll go see if I can prepare anything for tonight’s dinner,” he said and headed to the kitchen.

Glain sighed and caught Constable who was sleeping at the other end of the sofa.

“At least  _ you  _ love me,” he snuggled the cat who wasn’t entirely of the same opinion. The young man looked at his sister and shook his head. “It’s good to know father’s gone back to work today at least… Do you have plans for the upcoming days? Tobran gives us some more sun tomorrow if we’re fortunate enough before it starts raining slimy buckets again… Then it won’t be so good to get your nose outside for a while.”

Elem crossed one leg over the other and hummed distantly, waiting a moment to look up.

“I hope it’s not going to rain too much, I was hoping to... to go outside tomorrow. With uh, with Iltarel,” it was a plausible enough lie, “to discuss weapons a bit further, and stuff.”

“I hope you two have fun, but not too much, uhm?” Glain smirked.

“And what would  _ too much _ constitute?” Elem asked rather aggressively.

“Oh, defensive are you now?” Glain gloated and giggled. “I think you know perfectly what I mean, but  _ fine _ . I guess you both can afford to relax a bit and practice a bit of courting…” he eased in the sofa and started to check his messages as he was used to do when back from work.

There was one from Najal, inquiring as to where he’d disappeared and what was going on with those rumors of Nall seeking to get him enjoined – and why had Iltarel said Nall didn’t want him to see anyone then? And what with those news of  _ Nall Rokat adopting children _ ? He quickly sent her a little explanation but mostly expanded on his new little program of animated cards. She soon replied, very interested about it, and they started chatting happily together. It felt pretty good to be back to normal life. No explosions, no people getting abducted or killed, no detention…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	5. I - Cardassian romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you're not being too disturbed by the gender switching when it comes to Elem/Melekor... It'll ease up down the road :)

#  Cardassian romance

As the next day evening came, Elem managed to sneak out rather painlessly, and had opted to wear the dress from Garak for the date. Somewhere deep inside, he knew his father would probably disapprove of this entire endeavour, but he also knew that, technically, they weren’t related. Officially, Elem was just a guest from far away, who was allowed to come and go as she wished. And she  _ wished _ .

The plaza was something quite still and calm; a small gem of movement and peace. Most everyone else walked through the area in groups, talking together in hushed voices. Elem remained at a distance though, and for a moment, he stopped himself to look at the statue standing there, in the middle of the surrounding arcades, fascinated by the choices of the design; it was geometrically complex and rather unalike what could be found on Trill. Eventually Elem tore herself from the art and looked around – it didn’t take too long to spot Sokal Dain, who was sitting in an angle that made it possible for Elem to watch him, but not for him to see her.

For a while, she allowed herself to simply watch him sit there. He was quite handsome, and a lot less terrifying in the sunlight that dotted him; rain had yet to steal the warm glimmer from his hair. She took a deep breath and approached, still unseen, secretly enjoying the moment of unknowing silence. Then she sat down on the bench next to him.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for too long.”

He almost startled.

“I, no, not at all,” he stuttered, then laughed a bit nervously, looking down and up at her again. “Or actually, yes, but that’s because I went earlier than expected… I wanted to be certain not to miss you,” he admitted and looked at her some more, admiring the woman, the dress and the woman in the dress. “You look wonderful,” he couldn’t help but compliment. “I take it your host has treated you with fine Cardassian craftsmanship?” he observed the materials and the quality of the seams.

Elem had foreseen the question and nodded a bit; after all, she was sure Garak had put all the costs on Nall’s account, and so the dress might count amongst them. So agreeing to this was not a lie, not exactly.

“After a lifetime in clothes sewn for people whose necks are about as sensitive as a rock, I have to say I’m rather grateful to slip into something that’s been specifically made for me,” she smiled at Sokal. “I was watching you from afar for awhile, I hope you’ll forgive me the audacity. You make quite a serene picture. I especially like how you wear the sunlight in your hair.”

“Thank you; I mean, you’re welcome,” he replied, then tried to regain some composure. “I hope I don’t come off wrong to you; it’s been awhile since I last had a date, and here it happens… with such a smart and beautiful woman moreover…” he murmured.

“Truly?” she  _ had _ to question the sentiment, however, “I would’ve thought an attractive young man of such a respectable role in society would have his fair share of female suitors – I have to admit, I halfway expected you to be enjoined already.”

“Ah, yes…” he nodded. “I once  _ was  _ enjoined,” he admitted, because he was about certain that Glain must have fished and told her already. “It was a beautiful period of my life, until Saima proved to be infertile and refused to manoeuver to stay enjoined with me. It took some time to both talk her out of dangerous sadness on one hand, and get over those feelings on the other hand, but eventually it happened,” he smiled. “She’s still alive and we’re fine being just friends. She resides in Culat, usually, but if  _ someone _ were to have told you she happens to have arrived to Lakat last week, I can assure you it wasn’t to see me but to conduct some scientific researches. Though, I suppose we might share a cup of tea at some point,” he reckoned – Elem hadn’t expected to find a reasonable explanation so easily, and it made him a bit suspicious, though those suspicions were easy to set aside, mostly because it was very convenient to his desires if what was said was the truth.

“And… this…” Sokal pulled his sleeve back a little and rubbed the scales on his hands and his wrist, “This is the reason I don’t get to flirt so easily.”

Elem instantly moved over, rather fascinated by the numerous scales there, alike to shards of glass.

“Can I touch?” she thought to ask before doing anything – it was rude to invade other people’s privacy, after all.

“Maybe not here,” Dain hushed her gently. “Someone could see us and report us… I don’t know if the worlds you’ve lived in were more permissive, but in Cardassia, this is considered to be quite indecent…” he explained and put his sleeve back in place. “Listen… I know that it might not be very smart of me to tell you those things already, but you are new here and your ...host is an important person for whom I have a lot of respect; I feel that it would be unfair not to clarify some things. Those scales are a symptom of Tovak’s syndrome. It’s genetic, even though most people think it’s caused by higher levels of testosterone that would subsequently make us into violent, overly-sexual, cold, awful persons to be around with. None of this is true, even if beliefs can turn into reality if we pay attention to them. Personally, I don’t, and I believe I can be as caring and patient as anyone else,” he blushed a little. “I suppose that sums it, unless you have questions of course,” he tried to fathom the darkness of her eyes. She was wonderfully ambivalent and mysterious. He sincerely hoped she wouldn’t leave yet but, “If you’d rather walk away now, I’d understand as well, but ...I would like to know more about you,” he almost whispered.

Elem allowed a certain silence to nestle between them, disrupted only by the squeaking of small birds in nearby bushes. The sunlight caught in the pale blue-green hue of Sokal’s left eye, gleaming from inside and reflecting a great softness and a shiny spice of amazement and desire. Leaning back to make some distance again, she studied the man like a contemporary portrait. The subtleties about him – how he dressed, how he veiled himself to appear less (she supposed) out of place. Courageous honesty wasn’t something Elem had grown to expect, especially since his previous experiences had been mostly with  _ Garak _ , but she found it to be perhaps a bit more Dain than it was Cardassian. And after all, this was the kind of confession Elem would have to make to all she met and wished to pursue. There was respect and dignity involved as well. Finally, she offered him a smile and a long, slow blink.

“Mister Dain, I believe that if I left now, I would never be allowed to know what I came here to learn – you still owe me answers, if you deem me trustworthy for such confessions.”

“And so do you,” he replied with hunger in his eyes. “Would you care for a walk? Such discussions are better to have with a bit of movement, and this park is meant to be traveled through,” he offered his hand to help her get up, curious to see if she would accept it. “We could get some drinks and sweets on the way. If you never had taran swirls, I believe the best of this sector are found here,” he sold his plan.

“Taran swirls?” Elem asked as she took his hand and got up, then held it for a small moment before letting go. “I could certainly afford to get to know those swirls better, and while we get there, how about you tell me what type of physical interaction is considered acceptable and not? I’m afraid no one told me, I guess, because it’s so normal to them that it didn’t occur to them that I might not have the instinct for this.”

“Typical,” Sokal chimed in agreement. “There,” he stood next to Elem and took a short step away from her. “This is a proper distance to hold with family and eventually close relatives who are practically part of your family.” He took another step away. “This is more formal, fine around colleagues at work. If someone outranks you, you should be walking a bit behind them unless told otherwise, and if someone outranks you by far, you should be completely behind them. If allowed to walk by their side, you should still remind a bit behind. And this,” he took half a step closer, “is a courteous flirting distance,” he flashed his teeth. “To get closer while courting is daring and rather improper. Same way, holding hands is very intimate and more appropriate for couples who are enjoined or considering enjoinment, and for family – preferably between parents and young children, and between young siblings, but exceptions can be observed,” he said and invited her to start walking.

“To imagine that there’s so much subtleties just to how people walk together!” Elem couldn’t help but to marvel at the concept as they walked in a synchronized pace, “I guess Cardassians are highly perceptive for a reason – it seems you  _ have _ to be, to keep track of people’s relations... So, how do you walk more casually with a friend? I do hope to make friends at some point, and I don’t want to accidentally make them think I’m indecent, or cold.”

“Hm,” Sokal gave it a thought, trying to find the pattern of friendship. “I think that mostly depends on the friendship itself and what you want from it,” he tied his hands behind his back. “With people who are mere acquaintances, you might want to be more formal maybe, and act with the respect you would give to colleagues. With those you grow to be closer to, you may relax more, I guess. It’s also a matter of personal style, but I tend to think a good rule of thumb is to cool down your warmth to the temperature of those who are colder, so not to embarrass them. You’ll also find that people can be vastly different at work and off-duty. In private context, a lot of us tend to let go of the formal appearance and allow ourselves to be more vulnerable.” He bent toward her a little to whisper, “ _ See those two women at the kotra tables? What do you think might be going on? _ ” he glanced at the tables a bit further away as they headed to the tea and sweets stall.

Elem looked at the women for a while, trying to discern the context.

“I think... they are friends,” he squinted a bit, then looked away to be more discreet, “or possibly family,” he added as he threw another glance at them. “Do women interacting with other women have another subset of physical interactions?” he continued to ask. “Where I come from, women tend to be allowed to display a lot more tenderness and intimacy than, say, a woman and a man or a man and a man. It’s considered to be more innocent, because women, I guess, aren’t... as sexually driven as men tend to be, or so I’ve been told.”

“What an awful place that must be…” Sokal shared some sympathy. “It’s a lot more equal here. The only ones who repress more affection are those who are in the military, or from militaristic families, and I believe women are just as sexually driven as men ...they just handle it better,” he chuckled. “ _ Oh, see, _ ” he hurried to whisper, “ _ the way she moves her token while staring defiantly at the other, and this slight smirk… She definitely seeks for an argument, _ ” he pointed. “People don’t come to play kotra here just for the game. It’s an opportunity to meet people and become friends  _ or more _ . Our society offers a large number of ways to seek and find mates to ease the formation of couples, and hopefully, ease the fulfillment of many a Cardassian’s wish for offspring.” Not that those women were likely to procreate, but one could never be entirely certain that one of them didn’t happen to have male organs – they were youthful enough that one might end up being a man someday.

They stopped in front of the stall where many pastries and boxes of tea were displayed. Some red ribbon-like twirls made of something alike to translucent sugar with inclusions of amber pearls were hung for display, and many more, a lot smaller, could be seen in large boxes. Those came in more varied colors.

“I don’t suppose you would know of the different flavours?” Sokal read the different labels, guessing that Elem probably hadn’t heard of most of those fruits, roots and fishes. “They’re all quite sweet. These ones are more spicy, this one has a bitter aftertaste, and those are lighter and feel rather cool on the tongue. I personally think they make for a good mix with the spicy green and golden ones, but the red ones are an all-time classic,” he helped her choose – she settled for red, gold and some that were a pale blue, with the motivation that experiencing the classic  _ first _ would make for a better insight when tasting the others.

The woman behind the stall was smiling to herself, seemingly a bit curious.

“You’re from another world,” she addressed Elem without any animosity. “It’s always a pleasure to have new faces around. Will you want some kamama cream with your swirls? I would recommend bara root tea today, it’s fresh from the colonies and they say its deep scent lifts the spirits and makes the scales shiny…” she opened the box to let her clients smell the perfume.

“I think I’ll let myself be tempted,” Sokal agreed.

“I only arrived some days ago,” Elem let the woman know, “and yes, thank you, both to the cream and the tea,” he smiled a little, then glanced at the women at the kotra table, who were now arguing a little bit. So that was how it was done?

“I hope you have a pleasant stay in the city then,” the seller replied with warm politeness.

She put nearly-black cream in two pastry cornets, added swirls of the requested colors, then more cream on top, and gave them along with a little pincer to pick the food and eat without dirtying one’s hand. The cups of dark purple tea quickly followed and the couple went to sit at a dining table.

Sokal looked at Elem and started to blush again as a new wave of anxiety surfaced. Of course, it would be ridiculous to run away, especially now. Just because she was beautiful, smart, and issued from the Rokat family didn’t mean he couldn’t have her. His own status was quite good after all, and just because he was a bit different-

“So, you were curious of certain things about me…” he looked at his food and treated himself with some swirls, letting them dissolve on his tongue quickly, freeing the syrupy liquid inside – however crispy the treats looked, once on the tongue they turned soft and gelatinous. Silent too.

Asking someone about their sadistic tendencies  _ in public _ was probably even more taboo than gently touching their scales, and so Elem pursued other intrigues, leaning forwards a bit.

“You must have a keen eye for aesthetics, to be able to appreciate the intricacy of my dress like you did earlier,” she appreciated with a smile, “either that, or you’ve got an immense attention to detail. Or both,” he leaned back with a more soft expression. “I do appreciate creativity in a man.”

“I suppose I might have a degree of creativity then,” he confessed. “I have an appreciation for clothes and usually have to either adjust the ones I buy or make them myself, to be certain they fit and conceal all that needs be concealed. Could you guess this shirt had no collar when I bought it?” he pointed to the parts he added. “It’s ...interesting to keep adjustments discreet, respect the original design… It’s a challenge, and almost alike to playing a role in theater. I like to try to imagine who might have been the designer, what person they are and what their intentions were.”

“Now I regret I didn’t go in the blue dress,” Elem told with a smirk and a slight head shake. “I had to choose between this one and one that fits me less well. In the end, I wanted to appeal to you – I figured it would be too early to present you with such a challenge. But, perhaps you would’ve enjoyed it?”

“Perhaps,” he raised his eyeridges and flashed his teeth. “I’m quite sure blue fits you well, considering how well you wear makeup,” he eyed at her. “It’s amazing how just a bit of color changes you so much already, and yet you are still this person I first met. I must admit I quite like it. I have a taste for contrasts, contradictions and ambivalence. I think they are inspiring ...and aesthetically pleasing. But I talk too much; please, tell me more about you. How have been your first days on Cardassia? Do you like it here? No regrets?” he teased her. Oh, he hoped there were none. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to know everything about her.

“It may seem odd, but it feels both alien and natural at the same time – I’ve rarely visited worlds with such pleasant climate, where the temperature is just  _ right _ like it is here,” he tasted the red swirls together with some cream – if he’d had any expectations, the experience far exceeded them. “I went to the Torr Sector the day before yesterday – there’s a lot more people there than here; it was quite dizzying, and I was only told afterwards that  _ several _ people had attempted to court me. Apparently I kept my host rather occupied, as he had to fend them off – and I had  _ no idea, _ ” Elem blushed a bit and looked into the food. “He then had his son explain courting to me, and it was about the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had.”

The Notator allowed himself a few seconds to imagine the scene.

“His young Rokat seems to have quite a, temper,” he smirked. “But I suppose he would know certain things about courting if some allegations about him are true. Not that I would judge him in any way; I leave this to Archons,” he said in a parenthesis. “I can imagine that Cardassian courting might be a little harder to spot if our codes for this are different. Though, usually, I believe it’s our propension to argue that surprises? Or maybe did you know about this and, as a result, didn’t expect compliments and kinder ways of seeking attention and impress to be part of our flirting appanage?”

“Mister Dain,” Elem half-whispered, blushing rather substantially, “I didn’t come to Cardassia to flirt! So I’ll be excused if I didn’t research the matter as thoroughly as it seems I should have – how do you people interact with one another without accidentally flirting? I mean,” he gesticulated a bit with one hand, then took the pincer again, “I accidentally flirted with Glain’s friend the other day – all I wanted to do was to ask if he’d let me read the article he’d just been talking about. Do you not... casually share things at all?”

“All the time, Your Kel, all the time,” he assured her. “It’s a matter of… attitude and responsiveness. But if it reassures you, spotting those things isn’t natural for everybody. One of my colleagues at work seems to be completely  _ blind _ to flirt. His assistant has been courting him for ...years? I believe? The entire building knows about it, but all he sees and talks about gets down to bugs, mushrooms and Crell Moset,” he laughed and shook his head. “Oh, that’s a name you know ...or did Rokat tell you about our Doctor Kovat?” he noticed the mention of Moset had sparked something.

“The only one Glain talks about at home is  _ Edar _ ,” Elem shook his head amusedly and Sokal grinned to himself, letting her continue, drinking some, eating some. “Crell Moset is a prominent Cardassian figure, isn’t he? I’ve heard things, of course. Some of my best friends were doctors – doctors are handy to keep around not only as company, but as a life insurance too,” she wove. “Crell Moset  _ does  _ have a reputation outside of Cardassia, and it’s not a bad one.”

“He is an epitome of Cardassian genius, and an amazing person too,” Sokal agreed. “I attended his last seminar with Kovat – the poor sod didn’t dare to ask a single question and I thought he was literally going to either die or fuse with his seat when I asked if there was a sure way to estimate the dosage of painkillers Cardassian-Bajoran hybrids with status should receive prior to tooth extraction. He found it to be a valuable question,” the Notator couldn’t help but boast a little, which brought darkness to his neckscales.

“My physique is mostly Cardassian, so apparently Cardassian dosages are the only thing that works on me,” Elem smiled a bit and nodded.

“Sayad usually gives one to two percents of a normal dosage to half-Bajorans, which is unsurprisingly ineffective…  _ I believe she’s a sadist _ ,” he leaned forth to whisper as if it were a secret. “I usually give twenty five percent to half a dose, depending on status, mostly. It’s also been my observation that Cardassian blood tends to make for a higher resistance to painkiller and, unfortunately, lower resistance to pain. It’s unfortunate to see that Bajoran blood doesn’t seem to bring anything interesting to our gene pool, but maybe it’s better this way,” he reckoned. “I hope you haven’t been through too much health concerns out of Cardassia however… This can’t have been pleasant, and I simply cannot imagine how difficult it must have been to be around aliens all the time. It seems so… unnatural. I am perplexed me that your mother would make such a strange choice as to raise you away from your rightful homeland,” he admitted with sincere concern and sympathy.

“Natural is what one gets used to,” Elem reckoned, sipping from the teacup and appreciating the rich flavour. “And when you’re the only one not in consensus with the rest, you start perceiving  _ yourself _ as unnatural. Growing up on Trill, there were no role models or medial ideals for me to look to – Trill society very much idolizes the pale, smooth skinned type of Trill who carries small, delicate markings, or large powerful ones. Everyone else are pretty much erased from the public eye,” he shrugged and sipped the tea. “I often wished I were like that. Normal. I believe I still deal with the subconscious self-hatred that stems from this differentness. Have you ever felt something similar, Mister Dain?” Elem looked at him with as friendly and soft an expression as she could find.

He thought about it, or rather, how to phrase it. The words came simpler than he thought them.

“Of course,” he answered quietly. “Cardassian children have softer scales; they are delicate and fragile… Mine were nothing such. My scales multiplied quickly and thickened yet before puberty ...which wasn’t exactly pleasant,” he held his breath. “But thankfully, I had my father to look up to, and both my parents were extremely supportive without being soft either. I like to think they found a rather good balance in the way they educated me. Still… I suppose I cannot really ignore the way people stare at my scales if I don’t wear a high collar or if my sleeves are shorter or pulled. I avoid the public thermes and most places where nudity is required, to avoid embarrassing them or scaring them. To avoid problems too,” he admitted. “I don’t like to feel like I shouldn’t appreciate my body, because my parents gave it to me, and I know just how much they tried to put the best of them into it.”

“But it’s still how you feel,” Elem concluded a bit sadly. “Have you considered visiting these places in the company of friends? It’s my experience that people are less likely to react negatively if you’re very evidently not alone – because if you’re in a group, it means you’re less weird, more accepted, and that you have a social status. What your friends think of you can enter into others’ subconscious in this way.”

“I suppose that’s true in certain places,” he said hesitantly. “The fact that I’m a Notator makes it a bit more tedious. A lot of people still don’t like it too much to have to entrust their child to someone  _ primitive _ ,” he pressed his lips tight together. “It’s sad how those reactions tend to repeatedly come from the same social classes. Sometimes I wonder if they carry a gene for stupidity and obnoxiousness, but I suppose the heritage is more social in nature,” he joked. “But that’s fine, I have a pool of my own and that settles the ah-” he suddenly realized he mentioned something he maybe shouldn’t have – Elem caught onto the slip and smirked a bit behind her teacup, otherwise acting as if she’d noticed nothing, “-the problem,” he still finished his sentence. “Else, there are other establishments with more private thermes and saunas, and that’s quite practical, though the downside really is that people usually don’t go there just for the warm water or the heat,” he suggested.

“Are you _ sure  _ that’s a downside?” she asked and sipped her drink, rather humoured by his dismay.

“Oh, well, I suppose it all depends on what one might want to do in such a place…” he grinned and hid a part of his blush in his own cup. He certainly wouldn’t mind going with her. “I don’t imagine you have any idea what such places are like at all, do you?” he teased her curiosity.

“Perhaps I don’t, probably due to your rather inadequate description. Hm,” Elem twitched his left eyeridge intentionally, then lowered the cup a bit to reveal a challenging expression. “I think, perhaps you owe it to me to make me better  _ understand _ . Don’t you agree?”

“I shall have you know, Your Kel,” he replied with more fire and venom, “that I pride myself on my exactitude and correctness. And I  _ always _ correct mistakes.  _ Down your cup now _ ,” he pronounced each word with clarity and authority, darkness creeping up like a promise of the land his determination could take the both of them to.

His pupils were more dilated than before, and he closed his eyes only to end his own cup in a streak. More confidence was back in his body language and while he seemed calmer, he wasn’t colder in the least. There was tame fire under those glassy scales.

Elem did as told, only a bit slower, as to prove more dignified and controlled. Then, she scraped the last of the sweets from the bowl, all while watching Sokal, lifting the pincer to her lips, emptying it slowly and then licking the last of the cream from it before discarding it.

“If you correct all your mistakes so eagerly, I must wonder if you do not sometimes commit atrocities by complete intent,” she smiled and clasped her fingertips together, leaning her mouth against them, “Do you?”

“I refrain,” he held her gaze, “...as much as I can.”

This was highly improper, almost like having sex in public. He broke the eye-contact only to glance around, to check they weren’t attracting any attention from passerbyers.

“Come,” he required more softly, getting up and coming over to her side to help her up as he did before.

This time, he closed his fingers on hers for a moment, appreciating their masculinity – Elem on his behalf, could see the appeal of a societal standard with so few intimate moments in public; it made the tension for those in private all the stronger.

“Are you certain you wish to trust me?” Sokal asked like an invitation.

“Very,” Elem answered as he claimed his hand back, to follow where Sokal led. “I have trusted you before, and it hasn’t yet had any ill effect on me.”

##  * * *

Reaching the thermal establishment of Kerakenar didn’t take too long, and Sokal indulged in teaching Elem more about Cardassian manners and attitudes, explaining what was considered polite or rude. He asked her about Trillian equivalents and found that Cardassians were clearly superior in civilities and romance, being a lot more sophisticated and elaborate, controlled and creative as a result. Trills seemed to be gross and obscene in comparison.

About half an hour after they left the park, they stepped in the building’s entrance like one would step through a portal to another world. They found themselves in an inner courtyard with a decorative fountain and water running in the geometric carvings of the stone floor. It was already an all-different atmosphere. Sokal smiled and brushed Elem’s fingers to invite her to cross and enter the door on the other side. Once properly inside the building, they headed to the reception desk, where the Notator paid for a room.

“The changing rooms are this way,” the young deskkeep slid a key over the counter. “Do you know how to proceed?”

“Yes,” Sokal smiled and led the way.

They passed a door and walked by a series of lockers until they reached the one with their number. Inside were two bathrobes and pairs of slippers. The young man started to undress and folded his clothes about as perfectly as Glain would have, revealing for a short moment the impressive number of scales on his body. They were thicker too, with a propension to be more pointed at the joints and with a sharper edge along the bones. When the light caught in them, they seemed translucent however. Soon, they were hidden again as he put on the bathrobes.

The two of them had stolen glimpses and glances of each other’s nudity and both were eager to see more again.

“Should I remove my makeup before we go in, or am I supposed to leave it on?” Elem asked in a voice that didn’t entirely obey his attempt to stay civil.

“It’ll wear off when we pass the sonic shower,” Sokal told, his voice hoarser than before.

Shivers kept running all over his neck and chest, and after offering his hand to Elem, he guided the both of them through the corridors. The architecture was still very Cardassian and evocative of a sanctuary of health and medicine, but the rigidity of the walls did nothing to decrease the ambient feeling of lust.

Still armed with the key, Sokal unlocked their room. Behind the door was a small space or a large sonic shower, as one preferred to perceive it. Benches and hanging hooks on either sides allowed to get rid of garments before getting cleansed by the soundwaves.

As they stood there naked, getting scrubbed by the invisible energy, Sokal could quite feel another invisible energy rising between them. He looked at Elem, barely believing he was there with her, and laid his hands on her shoulders. His breath was shorter and it took more conscious effort to draw it longer and deeper. His hands moved on their own, following the scales of her neck, barely brushing them, and finally setting on the sides of her face, thumbs stroking the ridges of her jaws.

Dizzied, Elem had to lay her hands against Dain’s chest to steady herself a bit. Then, she realized she was finally touching him, feeling the sharp and tough scales of his chest with her fingertips, as if entranced.

“They are like gemstones...” she murmured.

He smiled.

“Tell me what you allow me to do to you… And what you forbid,” he asked of her. “Tell me what names I am allowed to call you too.”

“I like to be hurt, and I haven’t yet found my limits. But if I have to forbid you anything, it would be to cause the kind of harm that you couldn’t heal afterwards, here. I’d rather we keep this to ourselves,” he swallowed and looked at his hands on Dain’s chest. “I like to be insulted, degraded, shamed... I’m not well-versed in Cardassian insults, but I am a most willing student, were you to be my teacher.” She looked up again, and, not knowing if it was her place to close the distance, she kept it. “What do you  _ want _ to do to me, Mister Dain?”

“There are so many things I would do to you, sweet little thing, none of them  nice,” he leaned forth, teasing her with the proximity of his lips and his nose.  “But I suppose I’ll have to restrain myself some,  _ this time _ ,” he grinned and took his distance again. “Come, as a friend,” he let go of her and took a step back before passing through the gap to his side of the wall. “You’ll be my comfort woman today, Elem.”

The words were lustful and felt good on his tongue.

The other side of the room was misty and leveled. A first height offset allowed to get into the warm water and sit without getting submerged above the rib cage. The next level was more alike to a pool where one could swim over a few meters. Arches loomed over the water and held an oval structure crowned with arched, pointed pillars. There was a bed there, and no doubts left to what people did in this place.

Sokal looked at Elem and passed a hand on her hip, guiding her to stand in front of him. He liked that he was taller than her, and he liked the feelings of his hand on her skin. On her hips, on her belly, her torso…

“ _ Do you like being a freak? _ ” he breathed close to her ear and held her closer, pressing her back against the sharp scales of his chest. He could feel her buttocks against the scales down his hips, and against his erection, and it was all so tantalizing.

“I do,” Elem answered into the embrace, one hand on Sokal’s, her fingers between his fingers, and the other seeking for his cheek, to stroke his skin, the scales there, to remind herself that she was with a Cardassian in this place, and that he desired her.

If there was something that was obvious, it was that Dain was expert in what he did. Was he really the same man in here as he had been on that bench in the park? The contrast was stark – but then, hadn’t he said he liked contrasts? It made sense that he was one, himself.

“I... want to see you,” she realized the urgency in her voice probably gave away more of her thoughts than she’d intended to, but found that she didn’t mind.

“Walk,” he ordered, pressing her to the edge of the water. “Kneel. And look at me standing in front of you,” he too looked down their reflection in the perfectly still water. “Look at those freaks…” he grinned with appreciation.

He kneeled too, and sat with a leg in the water, whirling Elem to lay in the pool, with the back of her head resting against the scaled hide of his lap. He held her hair with his left hand and caressed her under the chin with the other hand, towering her. “Tell your master why you needed to see him this much, my gentle slut.”

“You’re a Cardassian, and you desire me,” Elem answered simply, a rather serene smile on her lips and in the darkness of her eyes. “You make me feel desired, and I desire you too.”

The fragility of her words made him blush a little. He smiled back at her.

“You make me want to hurt you and care for you. I wish I could see you bleed, see the darkness of your blood turn into shadowy ribbons in the water…” he tightened his grip on her hair and closed his eyes a second, smirking and inhaling the scent of this moment.

His right hand formed a collar on her throat and soon started to choke her – she brought a hand over his but let it there, helpless.

“I want to leave you… breathless… To dig my nails in your flesh and under your scales, see how much bliss it brings you… It does give you pleasure, doesn’t it?” he looked at her again, at the darkness coloring her cheeks as she couldn’t breath.

He smiled and leaned to nuzzle her and lick her lips as she gasped for air. He breathed into her mouth and felt the air coming back to him. Then removed himself just a bit and decreased the pressure. Before she could recover her breath completely, he kissed her, getting her to sit on his lap, scratching her abdomen with nails while his left hand still controlled her head.

Drowning in his kiss, she had to cling to him not to lose balance, one arm around his neck and the other clawing uselessly at his chest.

_ “It does ...give me pleasure,” _ she wasn’t sure how she managed to say it, considering her mouth wasn’t freed from his. Shuddering a bit at how cold the air seemed now that she was mostly wet, Elem huddled closer to Dain by instinct,  _ “do you want to feel what I feel?” _

The Notator shielded most of his mind by instinct, but not enough that he couldn’t hear the voice. He parted from her lips to look at her, eyes questioning as to be certain what he thought happened did happen.

“How do you…” He didn’t end the question, it wasn’t worth asking. “Is it dangerous?” he asked instead. It was more relevant already. “I thought you suppressed your abilities…”

Elem smirked and leaned her forehead against his.

“My former lovers enjoyed the mental connection, and considering your interest in the subject, I thought you might too,” he moved closer again and brushed his lips against his. “I have a dosage of my medicine with my clothes in the locker, if it would make you more comfortable if I kept inside my own head. I suspected those abilities would be rather unsettling to other Cardassians; I won’t be offended if you tell me to go hypospray myself. But,” he continued as he moved down the other’s neck to breathe there, and to lick, “if you want the full effect of my abilities, it might take a while yet; I’m only just starting to regain them. We’d have to draw this out.”

He gasped and grabbed her buttcheeks, digging his fingers in them.

“You filthy alien,” he hissed but lowered his mental defense. “I like the prospect of drawing it out, but you’re my toy whore and you’re staying here, we’ll spray you later,” he purred. “You’re doing pretty good and ...I’m curious,” he moaned against her hair, smelling its perfume. “But come,” he forced her to get up and spanked her like a promise for more, “I want to continue this in bed. I want to punish you, abuse you, and fuck you like the dirty halfbreed you are,” he grinned with white teeth and got  up as well.

He had her take the stairs first so he could look at her ass and push her to get on all four onto the bed. The pillars around appeared to be containers holding various types of objects, from lube to toys, to less innocent items. Those required a clearance code to access, which Sokal could produce.

“Simple security to prevent most accidents,” he commented and picked a collar from the container, then locked it around Elem’s neck. Holding it with his left hand, he spanked her with the right one to see her reaction.

She smirked and yanked herself around, not caring awfully much that the collar nearly left burn wounds on her skin, as long as she could collapse herself backwards in the bed.

“Do you do this to all your patients, Notator Dain?” she asked rather daringly.

“Only to the halfbreed bastards of admirable persons,” he replied with a smirk and yanked back on the collar before stabbing her in the solar plexus with two sharp knuckles. “How does that feel, slut?”

The jab had been so quick that Elem’s gasp came out completely silent. All the physical signs of pain were there; tears gathering in her eyes, her breath temporarily stuttered, her attempt at an answer to the question a complete failure. But the pain felt good, gritty and rough, and she held onto the sheets to steady herself aside from his grip. Once air returned to her more successfully, it distorted into a chuckle mixed with ragged panting.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should do it again?”

“Greedy are you?” he got closer, whispering to her lips and almost sitting across one of her legs. He was tempted to stroke himself against her, but didn’t yield yet. “I want to hear your voice in my mind again…” he pressed his knuckles hard against the sensitive nerve cluster of her chest.

A frail sound in between pain and pleasure left Elem’s lips and touched Dain’s as he spoke again.

“Do it and I’ll reward you for your cooperation,” he kissed her and bit her lips.

Elem felt like she might melt, relaxing against the bedsheets and moving her right hand to trace the scales of Sokal’s upper arm, up over his neck. They really were much harder and sharper than Garak’s, and yet their shapes were fascinating to touch.

_ “And do you want me to be greedy? Do you want resistance to fight, spirit to break, or do you want unconditional submission, like how I was in your chair when you turned me into a Cardassian?” _

“Can you read my thoughts too?” Sokal asked, parting their lips for a moment to see her nod. He grinned in fascination. “I want your greed and submission,” he shifted his grip on the loose collar, twisting it around his hand to shorten it and strangle Elem a bit where her neck was thinner, making her breathing more difficult while enhancing physical stimuli. “I want your pain and your desire…” he licked the sensitive scales below the collar, to the left side of her neck, and caressed them with his teeth before starting to bite.

She whimpered and squirmed as tickling sensations travelled down her spine, and dug her fingers deeper into the mattress, and into the mane of Sokal’s hair, holding onto him.

He was starting to feel like allowing himself to press his male parts against her body, and so he did, feeling the tenderness of her abdomen under him. As his member grew bolder, tiny scales were pushed out. Usually, he would have removed them for the sake of his partner, but they’d regrown since the last time he’d done it, and he hadn’t imagined the date would take them this far yet.

_ “Alien whore mine… You the prisoner of your own pain, are you?” _ his thought, phrased in slightly awkward English, bore a lustful perfume of tender cruelty.

_ “Master Dain...” _ Elem’s voice was tremulous even in his own head,  _ “you hold the key to my prison, all I am, I am in your hands.” _

_ “If I use that key, so will it hurt like ignorance in interrogation chamber,” _ he warned and pressed his penis closer to hers. “I can heal you… but do you trust me?” he raised up to look at her. “Touch it,” he snatched her hand and took it to his erection so she could feel the danger awaiting there.

Elem half sat on her left elbow as to reach better, looking down at the space between them, at the positively sharp edges of the miniature scales as she drew fingertips over them. The skin of her hand was tough enough to be left unscatched but she knew other places of her body would yield.

She treated him slowly, ending up stroking him while watching in fascination as her touch caused the scales to recede into the flesh but to rise up just as soon again after the pressure had gone.

“If you promise you can heal me afterwards, I’d like to try,” she told him, and looked up into his eyes. “Last time someone said he could, he ended up in detention after he’d tried to replicate medical tools he didn’t have the clearance level to access.” He spared the details, “Don’t envy him. He might have been my first, but I harbour no sweet feelings for him anymore.”

“All the better,” Sokal kissed her chaste and soft, and gestured at one of the pillars. “What I need is already in there, no need to replicate anything, but I’ll unlock and inspect it first,” he moved to give the clearance code and check that the tools were working properly before reaching for lube in another container.

“This establishment is ...very well-equipped,” he murmured before returning to Elem.

He looked at her for a moment, appreciating the maleness of her body without any difficulty.

“You’re beautiful…” he caressed her thighs before spreading them apart and exposing her rounder parts.

He lifted her enough to pass a pillow in the small of her back so he could caress her crack with more ease and spread slickness in between and further inside, long fingers reaching in deep. She frowned and whimpered at first, but soon relaxed in abandonment, calm and trusting in his obvious experience.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, “and it’s going to be so good to hurt you…” he gently stroked her penis while probing her insides, and soon she moved her hips to match the strokes he treated her with.

When she seemed comfortable with the pain, her hands held above her head, to better move her torso and hips, he removed his fingers and went in slowly, moving back and forth to test her reactions to the increasing width as he pushed in, and then,  to the scraping of scales when he reached that part. Even if they were few, it could still be  _ highly _ unpleasant. Or maybe was it highly pleasant in this case? What sensations Elem shared with him was a pleasure of pain – both sensations flourishing in her mind and body at the same time.

Shameless, she let out several shivering moans, clipping her eyelashes at the ceiling, then looking at him, at his attention. She moved one of her hands down her chest, down her thigh and past her penis, feeling the connection between herself and him. Feeling the heat he pulled out of her, and pushed into her.

_ “I wish to call you master in Kardasi,” _ she dared him,  _ “Teach me.” _

He rested his hands on either sides of her head and caught her hair in the left one, looking at her, losing himself in the darkness of her eyes.

_ “Gehan,” _ he pronounced in his mind, once and again, until she got it right. It didn’t take too long; she was a good student and he helped by thrusting himself in with the perfect timing to make her gasp the second syllable.

Possessively, she wrapped her legs around his hips, only twitching a bit as her skin met the rather sharp scales he had there, too. His eyes were darkened by lust, but the lining around the blackness was vivid with color.

“Gehan, I beg you...” Elem grasped for memories, clarity settling on one, “ _ mitahci _ ... close the distance,” she named the kiss she wished for and laid her hands to his neck, massaging the neckscales there, rubbing over them, their details committed to her memory like a topographic map, “Gehan...” her voice was husky and thick with pleasure, cut as he dived in her, his tongue invading her mouth and tasting the lust while her fingers lit fire on his neck until he had to gasp for air.

He held to her closer, his torso raking against hers, clung to her shoulders, pulled on her hair, bit her neck, and groaned and growled until louder cries left him. And again. And again… Elem washed her mind into Sokal’s, and dragged his into her. They shared the rush, and it became difficult to tell who truly was who, even more so than it had been with Garak, likely because the tailor had had a slightly stronger ability to conserve himself.

Dizzied by their pleasures entwined, Sokal thought he was going to faint, drowned in those waves as his body pushed in and pulled out in long last streaks of slow but lengthy orgasm. Translucent pinkish fluids mixed with nearly black blood, feeling so good between them.

His head rang and the world seemed to spin when he finally relaxed over his partner, seeking to retrieve the breath he’d lost moments ago.

“Elem…” his voice was still ragged and dry, but he smiled at her, “I’d never felt anything like this before… How do you feel?” he touched her face, her neck… and sought for her fingers to touch like a kiss.

Reduced to a shivering, sweaty and bruised body, Elem laid under Sokal’s stillness and tried to pull herself together. Her ass felt more like a wound than an ass, filled with salt and shards of glass, and her heartbeat echoing like the pulse of pleasure there. She grasped his fingers and opened her eyes a crack, but he was blurry and she couldn’t focus, so she closed them again, still shivering, her breath small and quick.

How  _ did _ she feel? She felt fucked, that was for certain. She felt like no one must ever know, especially not Nall. She closed her mind around herself to allow privacy for the both of them. And then she felt ashamed.

She was nothing like she wanted to be. Where was the dignity in running off with the  _ first _ Cardassian man to express interest in her? Indulging in him, going to a place like  _ this _ with him – she wasn’t stupid, she understood well enough what reputation an establishment such as that one must have. She thought of Garak, and she almost felt like she’d been unfaithful to him – which was incredibly stupid, because he neither expected nor  _ wanted _ her to be faithful to him.

“I feel...” she had to clear her throat to get rid of the grit, “full of cum, and a bit dirty. I didn’t come to Cardassia to be a slut.”

“No, certainly not,” Sokal caressed her face with gentle fingers. “And you’re nothing like a slut…” he tried to reassure her – she sighed, taking his words as a  _ blatant _ lie. “I need to remove myself before I can provide you care, and it will hurt one last time,” he warned. “Tell me when you are ready,” he caressed the shape of her collarbones.

She wasn’t ready to let him go just yet, and held onto his fingertips with her hands, trapping them against the diamond shape of her chest.

“Sokal Dain,” she said with tired seriousness, “I know what I am. It speaks for itself,” she let his fingers go and shut her eyes. “I’m ready.”

“If a slut is what you are, then I must be one to,” he replied as seriously. “Careful, here I go,” he warned a last time before removing himself, holding her as she hissed.

Dirty business was what it was, and even if Elem’s brain interpreted pain as pleasure, she was still very aware of what the original feeling was and where it came from.

“There… there,” he cooed softly once they were both freed.

She was hyperventilating a bit, so he held her hands until she laid back and tried to relax. He leaned toward the container and grabbed tissues and medical devices, setting them on the bed and turning them on. He tucked a spread tissue near the bloody wound he’d turned his lover’s ass into, and discreetly wiped his own dick a bit to avoid making things dirtier than needed.

“I’ll go as gently as I can, but it might still hurt in the beginning,” he said as he took the pen-shaped regenerator. He looked into her eyes, seeking for trust and maybe forgiveness too. He hadn’t meant for her to feel this way, but the down after the high was always an eventuality.

“It will be alright, I promise,” he added and pulled the sheets to cover the top of her a little more so she wouldn’t get cold – even if the room was steaming hot, it could still happen after such an intense experience. “May I begin?” he asked, desiring nothing more in this instant but to serve and care for her, to protect and repair.

She nodded swiftly.

“Yes, please.”

Her lips felt a bit dry; how much blood had she lost? Or perhaps it was the fact that she’d ejaculated a bit that had caused such a thirst. It did hurt, at least in the beginning – the respite was, however, that the tool was a welcome breeze of soft coldness, and the perceived cold was soothing. She watched him as he reverted back into a creature more gentle and almost submissive himself.

“How come you’re so good at this?” she asked, then shook her head, “I don’t mean healing, you’re obviously a trained physician, I mean-” she let a finger in under the edge of the collar and tugged a bit at it, “-this.”

Sokal smiled.

“If the tale makes you think less of me, I hope it’ll make you feel more of yourself,” he glanced up at her for a second. “I had classes,” he revealed first, “that’s how those clearance codes are obtained, but, of course, it’s mostly knowledge about safety, to avoid accidents or even deaths. You can tell this isn’t my first time…” he blushed a little. “This… has been a lifestyle for me, almost ever since I developed a sexuality. I tried to be more normal of course but… I need to feel trusted. I need to feel connected to my partner. And I… I usually don’t  _ do _ such things so fast, not like this,” he gulped, shame rising in his voice and on his face. “It would take… months…” he murmured, “but when you were in this chair, as I extracted your tooth, as I stared into the endless darkness of your eyes, it was as if a part of myself fell into those pits. There was… I hope there was a connection…” he confessed with fragility.

Elem stared at him for a moment, her mouth opened a bit, then she leaned her head back against the mattress. It was quite a memory.

“There was an attraction,” she would’ve thought it had been rather obvious, considering the aroused state she’d been in, “you were a powerful symbol to me, in that moment. Of course there was a connection, how couldn’t there be?” she sat on her elbows a bit too hastily, which caused her head to spin a bit, and she had to close her eyes before she could open them again. “You delivered me to my home,” then she blushed a bit. “It would’ve been very hot to have sex right there and then; I have to admit I might have fantasized a little about it since.”

“So did I…” Sokal admitted with a little sorry smile but mischief in his eyes. “You answered so many questions about your identity, but none of them revealed who you really are. I’ve never been so curious about a patient… I’ve never breached protocol before and never intended to ever do this. But do you understand? I  _ needed _ to see you again,” he reached for her hand a second, staring at her. “Since this moment, you’ve constantly been in my thoughts, in my skin, in my dreams… It terrifies me ...as does all that matters to me.” He let go of her hand, letting it trail over her leg as he returned his focus to the healing. “I want to know more about you, Elem Kel… I want to know what sort of person you are. How you are when you are happy, or angry. What dishes you like or dislike, how you prefer your eggs to be cooked… and all the things that make you smile,” he mused. “Those are the things that make a person, aren’t they? It’s not just birthplaces, parents, dates… It’s so much more, and those are the details I crave for.”

“And so, we’re both greedy,” Elem reckoned as he rested back on the bed, eyes half closed. “I agreed to see you because I was curious about the question you never answered, but also because I wanted to have sex,” he swallowed. “I haven’t had someone take  _ real _ pleasure from causing me harm before, like you did when you removed the tooth. The way you looked at me, I could see your fascination, your attraction.” She paused and got up on her elbows again. “I like that you did it for your own pleasure, not mine. I only wish to serve, not that I’ve proven any good at it,” she added with a glance up at the dark ceiling above. “I have ideals I don’t live up to. I wish for exclusivity, yet here I am – ever since I started having sex, it’s... I’m selfish, Dain,” she realized as she looked at him. “I came here with no regard for your feelings; all I  _ really _ wanted was the sex. I use people. I used  _ you _ , and I don’t even know what kind of problems you could get into if it was ever found out that you broke protocol. I’ve put you in danger, haven’t I?”

He nodded to that, feeling a little cold.

“My father has a high enough status to help me preserve mine if this were to happen, I suppose, but I hope we don’t need to get there… If your  _ host _ were to know about this…” He didn’t need to elaborate.

Her words disturbed him a little, though they did nothing to dull his curiosity for the enigma that was Elem Kel.

“...But you, what do you want? Are you satisfied with what we’ve done?” he observed her. “It’s addictive, is it not…?”

Elem swallowed the nervosity and sat up, still making a grimace, since his body felt a bit bruised and very sore still. Then, she shuffled closer to Sokal, sitting cross-legged while taking his hand. The Notator picked another tool to keep on with the care, erasing scratches on her torso while in this rather romantic position they were in.

“Nall Rokat wishes for me to get enjoined as soon as possible. I  _ believe _ he’s already started compiling a list of people he would approve of,” she sighed and some surprise made it to the other’s face. “He intends to officially include me in his family, even though I’ve actively tried to dissuade him – it’s a bad idea, but he insists that it’s the only way I’ll enjoin someone decent. And so, once I’m enjoined, I intend to stay loyal to whoever I end up with,” she folded her fingers between Sokal’s, contemplating reality with pursed lips and continuing; “I don’t see why I couldn’t have fun up until then, and I still want to know you better. If you... make friends with Glain and have him arrange for us to meet more openly, then we wouldn’t have to keep  _ so _ many secrets. Glain is very observant, he’ll notice the pattern to me sneaking out, and he will find out with whom and what we’re doing. I wouldn’t want to try keeping any secrets from him, it’ll only end badly. You don’t have to tell him you intend to court me, however.”

“I don’t have to tell him, indeed,” he gazed at her. “I’m his elder and my status is higher than his, I owe him nothing,” he smiled discreetly, “and I do want to keep on seeing you.” He grinned a little in anticipation. “Does it feel good? Does it feel better?” he asked about the care he was providing. “Are you feeling good with me?”

“I am,” she smiled a bit and looked at the water beneath them, softly glimmering under the mist. “I hardly could’ve asked for a better welcome here. I’m so fortunate to have caught your attention... I’m sorry I rushed things; I didn’t know, I didn’t think you’d find me personally interesting. I thought you were just intrigued by the way I respond to pain – the first Cardassian I ever met warned me about this, that how I handle pain would be seen as something suspicious and unsettling. That I should conceal it,” she smiled a little, “which was a bit difficult then, considering the nudity and the nature of my body.”

“I can imagine a number of reasons this person gave you such a warning,” Sokal agreed. He didn’t exactly want to delve too deep into that topic however, not yet, not now, not like this. “I suppose we, Notators, tend to have a bit of sadistic fiber in us, and we do get to see a lot of things. I like to see those things, to know all those secrets… I suppose it makes me feel less abnormal,” he kept on looking at her like one would look at an entrancing masterpiece of art. “I’m just glad I could be your Notator that day, and to have this moment right now,” he brought the regenerator to her neck at last, drawing a guttural purr out of her. “Elem… Are you afraid of snakes, lizards, amphibians…?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” she glanced at him a bit amused, “Are you trying to figure out the best way to stage a situation from which you’re going to save me?”

“No,” he laughed, shook his head and resumed to the care. “I simply happen to have a fondness for such animals. They’re beautiful and some of them are extremely intelligent. One of my snakes is especially smart, social and ...cuddly,” he admitted. “It’d be unfortunate if you were scared of her if you had an occasion to meet her one of these days…” he suggested, looking more at what he was doing.

Was that an invitation? Elem was pretty sure it must have been, especially since the man got momentarily more shy.

“And you?” she asked, “What are  _ you _ afraid of?”

“Confirming prejudices and ...loss of control,” he said. “I don’t want to make it harder for all those who bear the same syndrome as I, so I try to appear as normal as possible, like any good Cardassian must do. I do all I can to retain control over my own life. But sometimes I just freak out when things take an unexpected turn for which I haven’t a set escape route.” He hesitated then continued, “I once tailored a dress for a contest. I thought I was being extremely smart, because I could have it exposed under a pseudonym and observe people’s reactions to my handicraft without anyone knowing I was the creator. Only, I hadn’t anticipated a second that people would  _ like _ this scandalous work and award it a prize,” he snort-chuckled. “I must have become quite pale when the results were proclaimed, and rather than face the crowd, I simply left and went back home, terrified and expecting the Order to pick me for disturbing public order… Well, thankfully that did not happen and I’m still here. And I’m never doing something so foolish again!”

“But you won!” Elem chimed in while chuckling a little himself. “In which way was it scandalous?” she continued the question and got up from the bed with little regard for whether or not Sokal followed her down the stairs, “Too much skin? Too  _ enhancing? _ Too many colors? Holes in indecent places...?” she sat on the edge of the pool, testing the waters with her legs, looking back at him briefly to grin a bit. “Back on Trill, most dresses could probably qualify as scandalous here – in all of the mentioned ways.”

Then she slipped into the water and disappeared under the surface for a moment, coming up again with a gasp and clearing her hair from her face. Sokal laughed and dived in the water from the platform bed, penetrating the water without so much of a splash where the bottom was deeper, and resurfacing right behind Elem. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her in the neck.

“It was asymetric,” he answered. “The colors, the cuts, the lengths… it was  _ disorderly _ ,” he breathed hoarsely then took a distance, laughing. “Ah, doesn’t it feel  _ wonderful _ to be in warm water? We are meant for swimming, aren’t we?” he grinned and disappeared under the water for a moment, undulating with grace before reappearing.

“Our ancestors, Elem, it’s said they could dig the earth and dive deep in the water alike, capable of retaining their breath for long minutes while fishing. They were apt swimmers,” he joined her back. “Have you ever fished tokens from the bottom of a pool?” he asked. She didn’t know, and so he explained the rules of the simple game consisting into throwing items in the water and retrieving them.

In lack of more innocent toys, Sokal Dain threw dildos in the water and ordered Elem to retrieve them. Doubtful, she still complied, diving with eyes closed and fingers searching the bottom until she found the item, stuck it in her mouth and swam to the surface, her hair plastered over her face as she breached. Sokal had a laugh.

“You didn’t open your eyes, did you? Are they sensitive to water? Cardassian eyes are usually very good at seeing underwater,” he told, tapping the water’s edge as an invitation for her to join him there.

“My eyes are probably not very Cardassian,” Elem excused herself as she got up, a lot less gracefully than he had. “My host wishes to surgically alter them to make them appear more Cardassian,” Elem told as she threw the toy in the water.

“Does he?” Dain was a bit surprised, and she had to specify it had more to do with the color than with adding a third eyelid. “They don’t stand out so much…” he disapproved of Nall’s idea.

Then he got up, took a few steps back to run, jump and dived head first in the water. He only closed his eyes to shield them from the impact before reopening them and speeding to the bottom where he quickly picked the token and took another impulse with his feet to return to the water’s edge and bolted out to sit next to his lover, wowing her in the process – how was it possible for someone to be so... flexible and in control of their body? Elem wondered. His cheeky grin only added to the charm and she had to admire how he’d emerged with his hair slicked back, none of them in the way of his face or his eyes – his Cardassian hairline was higher up than hers after all.

“And what would  _ you _ want for your eyes?” he asked, “I find them beautiful and mysterious, but that’s my opinion.”

“You’re incredibly graceful, Dain,” Elem told him before tending to the question, as well as the overwhelming compliments, “and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter to him what I want. I don’t see why it’s necessary, and the prospect of someone digging around inside of my eyeballs, ah, it’s nauseating and scares me a little,” he admitted as he dropped his hand and made some waves on the water, smiling without teeth and with closed eyes. “I have to trust that he knows what’s best for me, Mister Dain. Your parents always know what’s best, even when it isn’t,” he laid a hand against his womb and looked away.

“If I ever get the chance to be his guest, I suppose I could offer him some medical insight that might get him thinking some more,” Sokal patted her shoulder and hugged her, burying his nose in her hair for a moment. “I love the smell of your hair… It feels so good to be here with you. I had forgotten how much I like to swim,” he admitted. “Maybe you were right earlier, maybe I should go to the pool with friends…” he mused about it.

She turned slightly to press her lips to his, a soft kiss, then another.

“You should,” she agreed, then grinned a little, “but you have to be careful, I’m sure everyone else would be jealous of your beautiful body and your masterful swimming abilities. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve seen a lot.”

“Believe me, those scales keep pretenders at bay,” he kissed her back. “I would be more worried about the attention you would get. But being in a group of friends can be a good way to either deter predators or to hunt. Maybe His young Rokat should give it a try if he’s a good swimmer – oh, either way, I believe he has a nice physique to himself,” he conceded.

Elem chuckled a bit and put a finger between their lips.

“Am I supposed to get jealous of him, now?” then she got thoughtful and frowned a little. “What do you mean you’d be worried about the attention I’d get? You think I’d get assaulted?”

“Oh, no,” Sokal shook his head at that. “I doubt anyone would spot you as a halfbreed, but some may spot you as cute, handsome and beautiful. In all honesty, you could easily attract a lot of attention from  _ certain men _ if they were to know you are female and available for joining…” he suggested.

Elem burst out in a nervous laughter, withdrawing a bit to shake her head at herself.

“And you’d mind?” she concluded cheekily, “Or perhaps you’d enjoy seeing me with others,” she suggested in further indecence.

He reacted at once, flushing in a mix of surprise, embarrassment and anger.

“Is this a tease to torture me?” he thinned his eyes, “Or something  _ you _ would enjoy? I ...know there are some with cravings for more partners, such things are ...heard of,” he looked away a bit. Of course, he would know of such things.

Elem couldn’t help but to giggle at bit at the pure intensity of his reaction. Then she dipped herself into the water again and swam to the other side, studying him from there.

“I had to give you  _ something _ to fantasize about until next time we meet,” she told him and leaned the back of her head against the edge of the pool, “I’ve never  _ been _ with more than one person at a time, if that’s what you wonder – I’m  _ very _ new to this. I don’t know if I’d like it. I don’t even know if I’d need to consider everyone in such a situation a  _ partner _ . On Trill, the practice of having your significant other fucked while you watch is called teahn’tara. The third person is usually a friend, acquaintance or even a stranger. It’s by no means a mainstream activity,” Elem thought to clarify as she looked at him, “and I only know of it because I listen to a lot of questionable music with questionable lyrics. But, foregoing the rather  _ obscene _ appearance of this kind of ritual, it was originally a method to care for victims of trauma, more specifically rape victims. The scene of trauma would be reenacted in a safe environment while someone trusted were watching. Then it became more than that. I  _ believe _ we have the symbionts to thank for the practice; the technique was constructed by a Joined Trill, after all.”

There was pleasure to be found for Sokal, in hearing blasphemous words out of those appealing lips.

“And what would you think of people engaging in such activities?” he asked. “Be it the couple or the third one,” he specified, trying to keep equal intonation and not to give clue of what he thought and worried about.

She squinted.

“You’d like it, wouldn’t you?” she figured instead, amusement creeping into a grin, “That’s why you’re asking!”

“You’re avoiding to answer,” Sokal pointed instead. “I asked a question first,” he grinned back at her.

Elem burst into laughter again and splashed some water in his direction.

“You’re such a Notator!” she accused him, but there was nothing mean in her voice, then she calmed her chest a bit. “I have to admit that I’ve never really thought about what I think of those people,” she pointed out as she looked down into the mist, how it swirled and moved like smoke. “You might not believe it, but up until I quit my job to go to Cardassia, I didn’t have much of an opinion on anything sexual. Nothing made me horny, I desired nothing, and I certainly didn’t have any opinions one way or another about people who follow their sexual tendencies,” she smiled a bit. “Someone told me I’m not attracted to people – I’m attracted to their attraction to me. It’d explain why I never had much of a drive: no one was ever attracted to me,” he grimaced a little, as he’d just recalled about the disgusting half-Klingon Maquis. “I don’t know though. I feel pretty attracted to  _ you _ .”

Oh, no, that was it, Sokal thought. He could feel those palpitations in his neck and chest, the shivers inside, the happiness soaking him, and he knew just what that meant. He was blushing and radiant. He wet his lips and got closer, following the edge of the pool.

“So do I, and I’m so glad you find me to your taste…” he purred as he dipped himself in the water to hold her. “I like you, Elem…” he smiled, recovering slight control over his tint as he expressed his emotions. “Would you think bad of someone who’s been the… friend?” he asked, still, curious and serious at the same time.

“Does it really sound like I would?” she questioned him with a twitch to her right eyeridge, “No, I wouldn’t, but I’d be concerned for him. It’s a vulnerable position to hold; you could very easily get abused, or hurt. And I imagine, if you did it with friends, and that friendship ends, and they’d want to get rid of you so you’d never tell a living soul... that would be a cause of concern, for me.”

“All the more reasons to be careful in those choices,” he agreed. “If it reassures you, it isn’t a position I’ve been in so much,” he said softly and looked at her, marveling at her presence. “But now, all I need is you, your smile, this sparkle in your eyes, the tingle of your voice… I would do anything to make you happy and preserve all this beauty that your joy is.”

Elem tilted her head forward and looked at him with a bit of disbelief.

“You don’t know me well enough to want any of that, and even if you did,” she lectured him, “I believe that feeling would wear off very soon. You’re infatuated with me because you liked fucking me,” she swallowed and blushed a bit even though she’d been the one to express herself like that. “And you still didn’t answer any of my questions, you’re slippery like an eel.”

“I just did!” he defended himself, laughing. “If  _ you _ would like to involve someone else to do such things, then I would like it.  I’m infatuated, that’s true… But I still want to know more of you. I don’t want to pass on you. I will court you, Elem Kel,” he promised. “You know so many things, strange things about strange worlds… It must be absolutely impossible to ever get bored around you and I love it so much when you speak of those things. You have such a daring tongue and cutting honesty!”

“Perhaps because I haven’t learned how to be more proper,” Elem pointed out and then looked down at the other’s chest, “Perhaps, if we ever were to do this, it would be less dangerous to use a holographic projection of a person. Holoprograms don’t tattle,” she smirked a bit, “and I suppose it’s the  _ only _ way I’d ever get someone whose dick is even close to resembling yours,” then he paused a bit, giggling, “We could even make a replica of you.”

“See! That’s the daring!” Sokal scoffed and laughed enough that he had to hold a hand in front of his mouth as it took him a little while to recover more serious. “You really are an engineer, aren’t you? This is an idea I hadn’t even thought about ever!” he looked at her with a mix of amazement and amusement. “I  _ think _ we can allow ourselves some time to get to know each other better before getting there,” he held her closer and brushed her lips before kissing her ...how good it felt. Still, he had a concern. “I like it, being here with you… but maybe we should consider going to a more proper place. I’m not sure what time it is, but we wouldn’t want to make your host worried about your absence…”

“I have an alibi,” Elem mumbled and kissed him again, then nuzzled him – he really didn’t want to leave, not yet. It was so warm and nice, and he was getting a bit aroused again. Though, that in itself was probably a good reason for leaving – there were limits to how much one could put their body through, Elem was sure of it, “But I guess I shouldn’t keep  _ him _ up the entire evening just because I feel like indulging in your sweet cruelty…”

She parted from him and crawled up from the pool, intentionally granting him a rather nice view of her ass before she walked away. There, she realized the collar was still on, and walked up again.

“I don’t think Mister Rokat would be very happy to see me wearing this, actually.”

“Indeed,” Sokal snickered, “and I don’t think stealing this would do us much good,” he followed her and held her face, looking at her with many perfect teeth. “Let me… Let me remove it,” he passed his hands behind her neck to fidget with the lock. There was a click and the two ends parted. “You’re free again ...for now,” he smirked.

“I’ll go to the sonic shower,” she told him and gave his cheek a kiss.

Somehow, Elem rather would’ve liked the prospect of being unfree – but then, she knew she already  _ had _ obligations, none of them to Sokal Dain, and  _ all _ of them to Nall Rokat. She needed to sober up, and back in the shower, she sat on the floor and closed her eyes while the rub ensued. A grin kept creeping onto her lips, and she knew it was going to be an issue if she grinned too much once she came back home. At least  _ Glain _ would draw conclusions, and then he’d be upset at poor Iltarel, who was entirely innocent.

Meanwhile Sokal went back to the bed to put things back in place – even if he knew very well that everything would be sanitized and tidied up by the personnel, it was no reason to leave a complete mess behind. Once done, he joined Elem in the shower and felt his heart beating a bit faster as he started to realize they would soon leave the room, get dressed again, and part. He sat by her side and touched her leg gently, then her fingers, placing his own against hers in a tender gesture.

“So, how good is your alibi?” he asked with curiosity. “And who would that be?”

“His name is Iltarel Jarad,” Elem answered – Jarad was a familiar name to Sokal Dain, but Elem disambiguated the case quickly with further description while the shower scrubbed them both. “He doesn’t have a single pigment in him, not even in his eyes. He’s a  _ very _ sweet person, though, and rather smart. He’s the kind of male who wishes he’d been sorted as female, because he’s got an aptitude for engineering.”

“Oh…” Sokal observed and got up as well and turned off the shower. He took Elem’s gown to pass it on her shoulders. “I suppose he’s intersexed then… It’s typical of them to question whether they were assigned to the right gender or not. It does put a certain pressure on us, Notators,” he admitted as they put on their gowns and went back through the corridors. “I really hope those children who were with you will develop well in their assigned gender – their confidence was such a boon to me. There’s nothing I dread more than a wrong assignation when gender is so important in our society,”  he sighed.

“And what of me?” Elem asked, glancing at him with a not so small degree of curiosity, “Do you think you got me right?”

He looked at her in silence for a while.

“I  _ wish _ , because I followed the rules, but I don’t think I did, not completely,” he murmured. “By moments… you feel more like a woman, by other moments, you feel more like a man, and overall, I’m not sure you are either…  _ But _ we don’t have an option for this and it’s not a healthy topic to discuss,” he lowered his voice even more and gave her a sorry look.

It did hurt a bit; she wasn’t entirely sure why, however.

“I’ve been a man for most of my life,” she told him anyway. “When I understood the state of my body... I wasn’t sure what I was anymore. Except angry. Very angry,” he looked sidewise at Sokal. “Betazoid women can feel the presence of their child in the womb. My mother perceived me as predominantly male, which is why she altered me after I was born. She wanted to avoid dysphoria – she completely ignored that it should have been my choice, and that perhaps, I wouldn’t even have  _ made _ that choice. And when it comes down to it, apparently I’m both or neither; the overlap is so miniscule,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead with one hand. “I had such a short time to get to terms with my identity, I chose the one that had been unrightfully banished from me without a second thought. That, and the fact that I don’t have male reproductive organs, led me to the decision to submit to Cardassia’s preference that I’d be sorted as female. I was still angry at my mother when I made that decision, and besides, it’s too late for me to build a career as a male, anyway.”

“I think that was the most appropriate choice,” Sokal agreed, “and I’m not saying that just because I would have personal interest in it,” he specified quickly with a little grin. “No, I think it’s reasonable, and if you can get a position in engineering, you could still have a career you’d enjoy. After all, it  _ is _ harder to get those jobs while sorted as male.”

In the locker room they got back into their clothes and enjoyed this last moment of proximity together. Sokal helped her with the zip of her dress. She caressed his hair as to help it stay in place – not that he particularly needed her help, as his hair seemed to do the Cardassian thing on its own, while Elem’s very much told the story of what she’d been through. Her Notator brushed it with care and they shared one last kiss before leaving. As they went out, they found that it was raining outside, and a lot so.

“ _ Piss! _ ” Dain swore through his perfect teeth. “Well, I suppose that will explain the absence of makeup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	6. I - Young culprits

#  Young culprits

 

It was one of these days, beautiful and sunny until the sky suddenly started pouring buckets of water out of nowhere. Iltarel didn’t entirely hate those days. While soaked clothes were impractical and indecent, they didn’t entirely feel bad, and water felt good, on the skin and running through the hair. He stood where he was for a while, leaned against the railing of the small plaza where he’d discussed with Elem before, and looked at the city as it started to glisten in the sun. It shone like gold in places, making for a strong contrast where the sky was dark. There was something about this sight that felt serene and calming, comforting somehow. Iltarel wasn’t sure why, but he liked it. Maybe was it the luminosity? Dimmer, more comfortable to the eyes, but allowing to see things with great accuracy still. And the smell. He smiled as he let rain penetrate his senses. He listened to the melody around him while water trickled through his hair, wetting his scalp. How could something this simple feel so good? In this moment, he felt cared for by this world his people didn’t care for as much.

A quarter hour passed and he figured he should go home before he’d get sick. Water had ran down his calves and into his shoes, delivering a sloshing sound with each step. This wasn’t too good. Keelani would have opinions about it.

He tried to sneak in the house and got barefooted as soon as he entered, desperately looking for a basin in which he could maybe put the waterlogged clothes he’d started to remove in hope to avoid dirtying the entire interior. A crystalline laughter soon echoed from the living room as Glain spotted him. The archivist, dressed in bathrobes, put down the cup of tea he’d fetched from the kitchen and went to get a basket for his friend.

“Here, put this on you,” Glain put another bathrobe on his shoulders. “That was quite sudden, wasn’t it? I got caught too just as I was coming back from work! Where’s Elem? In the other house?” he asked.

“Obviously she’s not with me,” Iltarel pointed.

“Ow… did it go that bad?” Glain made bit of a “ouch” face.

“You’ll ask her yourself, I need a shower,” the albino evaded the answer and hurried to the bathroom.

 

He came out about just in time to see Kilem enter miserably with small bits of ice all over his hair.

“It’s time for dinner! And it’s hailing,” he thoughtfully added, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Ow, sweetscale! They didn’t give you an umbrella?” Glain cooed from the couch.

He went to pick Keelani’s umbrella, and the three of them could get out with it – the forcefield wasn’t large enough for three, but Iltarel simply carried Kilem on his back and let him hold the bracelet.

When they came in the dining room, Glain looked at the strange situation. Keelani was eating alone (“for etiquette”), Nall was puzzled, Tilayan was feeding her kitten with a small bottle, and Elem was absent. He looked at Iltarel, expecting answers. The albino just put Kilem back on the floor (the boy instantly plucked his own kitten from the nest and went to sit next to his adoptive father), and took a seat in silence, glancing between Keelani and Nall. The Conservator looked over at him, who had appeared out of nowhere, and then Glain. And then…

“Don’t tell me you  _ forgot _ to take your sister with you?” he asked in annoyance, “Go back and get her this instance.”

“She’s not in the other house,” Glain chimed. “But I thought  _ you _ said she was here?” he stared at Iltarel.

“I only said she wasn’t with me,” the albino denied.

“But she  _ was _ with you before, right?”

Iltarel looked down his plate, very much disliking how this was going.

“Yes… But that was before… She told me to go back home ahead. I suppose she’ll arrive shortly,” he cleared his throat a bit. “Or maybe she decided to find a shelter and wait for the storm to pass; it wasn’t raining yet when we parted, and we  _ were _ supposed to have sun for the rest of the evening…” he tried to defend himself. “I didn’t think…” he silenced. Nall’s face had gotten an unnatural dark shade to it, and he stared at Iltarel intensely, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You mean to tell me,” he started in a calm tone that was filled to the brim by an underlying threat, “that you left my daughter, who barely knows how to navigate this city, let alone interact with others properly... entirely on her own?” He got to his feet and went to the hall, “Where did you leave her? You-” he pointed at Glain, “-are coming along. Keelani, you watch over these two creatures and make sure they don’t disappear as well.”

“As you wish, gehan,” Keelani answered, at which Nall stuttered and lost his expression of authority for a couple of seconds.

It was very obvious that he wanted to ask her what she was doing, but that he also was of the opinion that  _ now _ was not the time for such games.

“You lead the way, Iltarel,” he waved to the door aggressively, “Hurry up.”

The albino cleared his throat a bit as Glain kept on glaring at him with assassin eyes.

“How  _ could you _ do this to us!?” the young man hissed at his friend who looked even paler than usual.

“I- We,” Iltarel stuttered and went for the door, trying to figure out which lie he should go for – the one about the library? Or the one about the tailor shop? No, certainly not that one. The library was better. “She might still be at the library,” he went out first and promptly closed the door behind him at the sight of the couple in the street, gesturing wildly at Dain to fuck off, then suddenly softening his arm motion into more innocent waving as the door opened again behind him.

“Ha, there she is…!” he sweated before running toward them. “Those  _ books  _ you were reading at the  _ library  _ must have made you lose notion of time!” he told her with a bit of terror in his voice and glared angrily at Dain, even though it wasn’t exactly  _ his _ fault. Or maybe it was. Either way, he hurried to take Elem back to the door and Dain followed.

Nall squinted at the man, and when his daughter was close enough, he simply took her arm and dragged her inside, turning himself into a wall of ‘ _ nope _ ’ as he stood on the threshold to separate her from the stranger.

“I don’t suppose you want to stay for dinner?” he asked rather sharpy, as a challenge – he had to figure out who this person was, and what had happened between Elem and him, “It’s such poor weather, and I’d hate to shut the door on the man who helped her find her way back to her home.” He smiled warmly, which stood in stark contrast to the darkness of his eyes. “Keelani, set another bowl on the table, will you,” he shot, and in the background, the housekeeper moved with a bit of a huff. “And you,” he turned to Elem and set a finger up in front of her face, which sent her jolting backwards in surprise, “You’re never leaving this house without a  _ responsible _ adult ever again.”

“Well, I don’t suppose I can refuse such a kind offer.” Sokal cleared his throat, cornered as he was – the three accusative pairs of eyes weighed on him; Nall was clearly being a father, Glain was waiting for the last pieces of the puzzle, and Iltarel was simply betrayed by everybody. “I’m sorry for the trouble, Your Jarad,” he said before getting in.

They dried their hair and it seemed like the only opportunity for the young culprits to get their story straight.

“I left you at the library,” Iltarel muttered.

“And I recognized her, and you because I’d seen you at the Masad bakery. I approached her after you left,” Sokal agreed.

“There’s a small cabinet here,” the albino cleared his throat, suddenly speaking more intelligibly and more formally, and opened the door. “You can get a bathrobe for yourself, Your Dain.”

“Thank you, Your Jarad,” the Notator nodded politely while Iltarel joined the table.

The clerk looked at Glain and Nall, still feeling a strong judgement.

“It’s a small city,” he said embarrassedly. “His Dain, here, apparently knows my brother, Pitir…”

“He’s the man who registered us,” Tilayan said. “Why is he here?”

“Can I eat in the bedroom?” fear vibrated in Kilem’s voice as he urgently asked Nall, who had had enough of everyone being on his nerves.

“No, you can’t!” he burst out and turned to Iltarel, whom he was angry with for real, “Everyone knows Pitir,” he accused him annoyedly and gesticulated to the seat next to Elem, at the other end of the table, mostly so that Dain wouldn’t be able to take it. “And  _ you _ ,” he painted at Keelani, “stop being ridiculous and come sit at the table like a proper person.”

“I’m  _ not _ a proper person,” Keelani said with ease as she poured some sauce on her soup, “and what you are proposing is most disorderly.”

Nall stared at her, then looked at everyone at the table, feeling bad over how every single one of them were really bothersome right at that moment.

“How could you do this!” he returned his wrath at Iltarel, “And  _ you _ , how can you be friends with someone so sloppy?” he asked of Glain, “In the rain! And  _ all those men _ , and  _ him _ ,” he gesticulated to Dain who had just gone through the door, “And  _ Elem _ ,” Elem shrunk in her chair and Nall stared at her, then served himself some soup, because he was too upset to rant more.

“I’m sorry, Your Rokat… I never should have gotten my eyes off her, not for a second; I don’t know what possessed me…” Iltarel apologized desperately.

“Eat your soup,” Glain cut short and set his eyes on Dain instead. “Sokal Dain… And what were you looking for at the library?”

“Oh, just some books for Doctor Kovat,” the Notator answered shortly and observed his soup a moment. “I suppose my attention was picked when I saw my latest patient,” he glanced at Elem. “I told Her Kel that I would recontact her when I would have certain results of analysis she allowed me to perform for research purposes, and then we got carried away a bit as I mentioned interest in performing some brain scans. Her physiology is absolutely unique in how-” he interrupted himself. “Sorry, I got carried away again,” he ate instead.

“And he  _ did _ promise Iltarel he’d see me home,” Elem filled in, submissively serving herself some soup while avoiding eye contact, “He’s a  _ Notator _ , I’d met him before, there was no reason for concern. I think it’s a bit harsh to judge Mister Jarad for trusting a respectable member of society.”

Tilayan stared at the scales on Dain’s neck and nudged Kilem.

“Are you going to grow manly scales like this?” she grinned at him. Nall huffed, and then snapped at Tilayan.

“It’s improper to remark on a man’s scales,” he figured it was best to urge her while she was still young, “especially if you’re a girl. Gossip about them if you want, but you don’t comment like this, especially not in front of him. Now,” he turned his attention to Iltarel, “Why didn’t you tell me you left her with a  _ Notator? _ It would’ve spared us so much worry – and you,” he pointed at Glain, “you should’ve  _ interrogated _ him the moment he came in through the doors without her. Now,” he turned to Dain, “What kind of  _ analysis _ had you performed, and what were the results?”

Elem blushed a bit.

“Mister Rokat, those are highly personal matters.”

“Nothing is personal in this house,” Nall maintained with a pleasant smile.

“On a professional level, I shouldn’t disclose any such information,” Sokal said, “but considering this research is personal, I suppose…” he maintained a pleasant facade too (and did far better at that than Iltarel who tried to disappear and be forgotten altogether). “Your ...guest, Her Kel, appears to be gifted with impressive talents due to her Betazoid heritage. I couldn’t help but wonder how much those abilities could be beneficial to our gene pool if they could be passed down or somehow replicated and engineered. Cardassia could certainly used those aptitudes.”

Nall stared, then looked at Elem, then at Dain, then at Elem again, a bit more displeased.

“Are you implying you’d rather have her give birth to... to... to  _ part-alien _ children rather than real, proper, fully Cardassian ones? That’s preposterous!” he sat the spoon in the bowl, and Elem shrunk even further on her chair – if he thought that of the children she hadn’t even  _ had _ yet, then what did he truthfully see her as? Half-Alien? Or just an alien who happened to be a little bit Cardassian?

Sokal was clearly shocked, and in the background, Keelani snorted, but said nothing about what she was thinking, which caused Nall to decide he was just going to ignore her back, from this point and on.

“Your Rokat… Her traits are barely noticeable, and at least she’s not one of those half-Bajorans that nobody knows what to do with. Their genes are absolutely useless, they have absolutely nothing to offer to improve our species, and it is thus very difficult to justify their existence in our society – from a  _ scientific  _ point of view,” he specified. “Her Kel however holds a great potential, and I can easily fathom how many professions would be  _ extremely _ interested in it. But this isn’t a symposium, of course,” he chuckled. “I simply imagine that despite her lack of any status, Her Kel can hold good hopes of finding an interesting and suitable mate.”

“Really?” Glain raised his voice. “How optimistic of you, Your Dain…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nall asked Glain, rather aggravated by how everyone was being infuriating, “You don’t think she’d be able to find anyone? That’s very rude, you can’t say that in front of a woman!”

“Or a man,” Kilem chimed in, remembering Sayad with great bitterness.

“Or a man,” Nall agreed before turning back to Dain. “You’ll have to excuse my son,  _ he _ has issues appealing to the opposite sex,” he glared at Glain. “Did you ever get around sending those women some sort of reimbursement for wasting their time?”

“I did, I did,” Glain groaned. “The one who wants to beat children thinks I owe her a favor. I replied that I’m  _ eventually _ willing to fulfill a  _ small _ service for her sometime in the next two months  _ or _ to share the latest program I’ve compiled to create animated cards,” he told. “Somehow, I don’t think she’ll be interested in that program.”

“The other didn’t reply yet?” Iltarel asked in a discreet voice.

“No, so I sent another card today to share my concern about her silence and propose her another date, at the museum.”

“I maintain that the ants were a bit strange…”

“She likes ants, she should have liked the card,” Glain maintained his position. “ _ I _ think it was cute and attentionate.”

“Too bad you’re not dating yourself.”

Iltarel’s remarked sparked some laughter and even Nall and Glain joined in. It was good to have a reason to laugh, and Nall relaxed a bit afterwards, even if Keelani still sat in her corner and pointedly refused to react to the main table at all.

“So, Your Dain, you do not happen to know of any unenjoined women you could expose my son to?” he asked more formally, eyes glinting with fascination, “I mean, there  _ must _ be some in your department – Damar can’t be bedding them all.”

Keelani sent him an outraged look, but since she didn’t care about them, he saw no reason to care about her, either.

“Oh, His Damar is very faithful I believe, and also probably quite right that suitable mates are getting to be rare sightings. There may be new ones coming when we’ll get new interns, but you never know what they’re going to be like, not to mention too young at the moment,” he smiled. “However, I do know a number of women among my mother’s clientele, and with pretty good status moreover,” he agreed. “A number of them are engineers, due to the location of the cabinet,” he specified. “Considering Her Kel’s interest in this field of work, I thought it would be a nice favor to maybe introduce her to some such persons on hope to maybe help her get a job – after all, she’s helping me with this scientific study. I suppose Your son could be invited too.”

Nall squinted a bit at that, then nodded slightly.

“And you believe your contacts to be better than mine?” he said with amusement. “I would prefer if my guest settled in before branching out. And she does have quite a journey ahead of her, medically, I mean.” He pursed his lips and looked at Dain with the kind of suspicion that only a father could muster, “Does it entertain you? To experiment on her like she’s some kind of test subject? You rarely  _ do _ get such  _ specimens  _ to study, do you?” – Sokal sensed the danger.

“I am not a laboratory researcher, Your Rokat, I am a Notator, first and foremost, and I make citizens,” he replied with a hint of pride. “I do get to see a lot of interesting things, especially since my superior, Her Sayad, was demoted to the Alien Affairs,” he smiled brightly, clearly quite satisfied with this turn of event. “I believe I’ve grown an interest in exobiology, but even if Her Kel is a rare specimen, she’s also and mostly a Cardassian citizen now. And I also have a profound respect for her host,” he added. “I treat her not as a lab vole, but as a person, and leave her free to accept or refuse to undergo any test.”

“ _ I _ will take responsibility for her healthcare during her stay here,” Nall puffed out his chest.

“But you can’t prevent me from serving Cardassia by sharing insight into my body and abilities,” Elem countered, which was most unexpected and unwelcome.

Nall melted a bit where he sat, stirring the soup in dismay.

“Are you  _ sure _ you want to subject yourself to this? We don’t do things as  _ nicely _ as the Federation,  _ I _ don’t want you to be a test subject.”

Elem smiled a bit and shook her head, sending Sokal a quick, warm glance.

“I don’t think I’d be a  _ test subject _ , would I, Mister Dain?”

“Certainly not,” he replied just as warmly. “And this research is personal. Were I to make it public, it will require your consent, and I would absolutely agree to keep your identity undisclosed.”

Glain cleared his throat at that and Iltarel tried to fade in the background some more at that remark – Glain had been activated; he’d figured it all out already, the albino was certain.

“You certainly are  _ very _ benevolent, Dain,” the archivist pointed.

“Really? What a coincidence, I thought exactly the same about you! I heard you and Her Malar are organizing some sort of little party some evening...”

“Then I expect to see you there and see how well you dance and sing,” Glain smirked passive-aggressively.

“Oh, I have an inkling that you might very well surpass me at those!” the Notator laughed, “But if you ever want to take us all to the pool, I’d take you up a game of fishing tokens.”

“ _ You _ would go to the pool?” the archivist stared at him and at his scales – Sokal shrugged.

“That’s enough sniping, you two,” Nall warned as he helped himself to another serving of soup, sending Keelani annoyed glances with each spoon he emptied on his plate.

Meanwhile, Kilem had disappeared under the table, where he was studying everyone’s legs for purely scientific reasons.

“So, you are having a party?” Elem asked Glain to break the silence, “Is it to get closer to...  _ females? _ ” He’d used his  _ best _ ferengi voice.

Glain looked at his sister, a bit unsettled, “Ah, yes, I suppose?” he blinked, then looked under the table to see what Kilem was doing and- didn’t shoo him away from Dain’s legs – by the State, did they have scales! “Well,” he sat more properly again, “I mostly expect it to be a way to bond with other colleagues, but if they end up bringing friends and if those friends happen to be fertile unenjoined females, that would also be interesting,” he smiled then looked at his father. “By the way, I also recontacted Najal’s friends, or at least the ones who are still unenjoined. Hopefully this will end up leading to something ...happy,” he gulped.

It was Sokal’s turn to look under the table.

“Young Kilem, are you performing a scientific study of your own?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m going to become a doctor one day, so I need to see and experience things. This is one such thing,” Kilem nodded, as to tell Sokal to get on with his eating and leave the  _ doctor _ to his work.

“I don’t recall doing such things while I was studying medicine, but suits yourself,” Sokal didn’t oppose. “So, your youngest child wishes to become a doctor?” he asked pleasantly. “This is a most laudable choice, we can never have too many doctors,” he approved.

“We’ll see what will become of them; they haven’t yet tested their aptitudes, and I intend on having them take the State test of Prodigee. I have high hopes for Tilayan,” Nall patted the girl a little, “She’s bright and if she qualifies for higher studies, she’ll pursue them.”

It was very clear she had no choice in the matter.

In the background, Keelani got up, inspected everyone’s bowls and then started removing them without a word. Finally, Nall couldn’t contain himself anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked her annoyedly, catching her wrist when she passed her arm over his shoulder to get his plate. She took a deep breath through the nose.

“I’m the housekeeper: it’s my job,” she insisted. He kept her hand in a tight lock, however. “What are you going to do? Squeeze my hand off?” she looked at him with badly contained anger, and he let her go, so she could carry on with being a housekeeper.

This left quite an awkward silence at the table, and once more, Tilayan was the one to break it.

“What are the tests going to be like?” she asked. “I want to do my best and I’d like to be prepared as much as possible.”

“It’s not the kind of test you can prepare for,” Nall explained as he still watched Keelani, who was now preparing the dessert in glass bowls, “It wouldn’t work if it were; people would train their children. No, the test is composed in a way that it’ll show what you have  _ talent _ for. Iltarel,” he snapped his fingers, “You’ve taken this test, haven’t you? A more recent version than my own, anyway. What was it like for you?”

Iltarel had only just started to tell about the virtual simulations in which he had to solve seemingly impossible situations when Keelani served bowls of whipped cream topped with caramelised filet of rokat fish, mash of teepa berries and, as a final topping, liquid egg yellow sauce. Nall watched her do with increasing dismay, finally getting up and catching her free arm as she was making her way back to the small table with her bowl.

“Keelani,  _ please _ ,” he winced a bit as she pulled her arm out of his grip and turned to him, glaring him straight in the eye.

“Yes, gehan? What do you want?”

“For you to behave normally. This is getting ridiculous, and our guest must think I’m archaic to expel you to the corner like that...”

“You  _ are _ ,” Keelani simply said and went to sit, leaving Nall wide-eyed in confusion and offense.

“Father isn’t archaic,” Glain opposed to Keelani’s words, “but he did call you a servant…” he looked down his dessert. “Is it rokat? Very smart…” he pinched his lips.

“But I would never call her that!” Nall burst out and looked at Glain with shock.

“You did,” Keelani reminded him as she started eating her dessert.

“I didn’t, I’d remember it,” pressed the Conservator, crossing his arms over his chest and looking between Glain and Keelani, “This is some kind of scheme.”

“You  _ did _ call her a servant,” Elem chimed in, although in a lower voice.

“Not you, too,” Nall rubbed his forehead, then turned to Sokal. “I’m so sorry about this, if I had known there was a play against me, I would’ve never invited you to bear witness to this ludicrous game.” 

“I am most conscious that this situation is in no way representative of a ...normal… day for your family,” Sokal nodded. “With new children and guests to take care of, it’s an entire avalanche of events, and-”

“-And an easy way to forget your own words,” Glain dared to say. “We were at Keelani’s house, she voiced disapproval about what you told me I shouldn’t do  _ until _ I get enjoined, praised how Iltarel and I were growing up-”

“Spare those details,” Iltarel sniped as he blushed a bit.

“-and when she mentioned it was happening in  _ her _ house with  _ her _ guest, you reminded her once more who owns that house and that she is  _ your servant _ ,” Glain finished, staring down at his dessert. “I understand that we are putting you through a lot, father, and I sincerely hope to bring you better satisfaction soon. If anyone should be eating in this corner, it should be me,” he finally dared looking at him. “I have disobeyed your word and disappointed you greatly; I do not deserve to sit at this table. Keelani is much more deserving than I,” he told and dramatically picked his bowl and his chair to go sit with her.

Iltarel looked at him, then at Nall.

“I probably should go to the corner too for having betrayed your trust just earlier. I am deeply sorry, Your Rokat. Your opinion of me matters more than my father’s,” he told before mimicking Glain.

Sokal looked at Elem with a discreet smile and amused glimmer in the eyes, wondering if she would follow the tide. This was almost better than a trial! Nall felt and looked tired, and his shoulders sunk gradually as realization dawned on him. Finally, he took the closest empty chair and sat in it.

“I did that?” he asked in disbelief, then sighed, “I guess I did. I’m sorry,” he glanced at Keelani’s back. “I didn’t mean to call you a servant. And of course your house is your house,” he sighed but then straightened up a bit, “but I  _ am _ head of this family, and I do deserve respect. I like to believe I’m generous and juste, and I know I’m not  _ nearly _ as controlling as  _ some _ family heads are. But I still deserve respect, and it’s been lacking, lately.”

Keelani snorted out loud.

“You have to forgive me, but I find it very hard to  _ respect _ the opinion that your son should cheat on his future wife,” she scraped some cream and Nall grimaced, both at the noise and at the sentiment.

“It’s not what I meant.”

“Nall Rokat, it could mean  _ nothing  _ else. You just didn’t _ think _ about what you said, did you?”

Nall snorted.

“Just get back to the table. All of you. I don’t want anyone sitting in the corner – it’s starting to look like mutiny.”

Glain prestly obeyed with a “yes, father” and Iltarel and Keelani followed closely.

“The least that can be said,” Sokal dared to raise his voice a bit, “is that there is no doubt that His young man here is your son,” he looked at Glain. “It was a nice speech.”

While the entire ordeal had been going on, Kilem had seized the opportunity to disappear, no doubt to visit Glain’s mother and talk about kittens. Nall  _ had _ noticed, but he let it slip; it wasn’t as if she was bothered by the child’s presence. Even though it threw her back in time, it was to pleasant times, and he didn’t see why he shouldn’t let it happen.

“So, what do you think of Her Elem Kel, Your Dain? Aside from her fascinating alien features that say hardly nothing about her as a person.”

The Notator was caught by surprise and nearly choked on a mashed berry, avoiding the disgrace by just a little.

“Oh, we didn’t spend a very long time talking, but,” he looked at her instead, “I think you’re undeniably smart and frank in your words, which makes you interesting to converse with. You’ve seen a lot, that’s for certain, and you’ve been through fire, ice and darkness to get here, which makes you brave and enduring. You’re a lot more than you give to see, which makes you mysterious. And you still have a lot to learn about Kardasi and social manners, but this means there is a lot of room for improvement,” he did have to say something a bit less positive not to make his feelings too obvious. “You’re a person and you’re here, I thought I’d tell you directly,” he said before setting his eyes back on Nall. It  _ was _ strange to be seated at the Conservator’s table, but strange in a rather good way. “I suppose that’s about it for now,” he concluded.

Elem had blushed a bit and looked down in her half-empty bowl in an attempt to make the color less obvious.

“Yes, true, I still have to arrange for her to get lessons in Kardasi,” Nall figured with a thoughtful rub to his chin, “and  _ manners _ I guess. She needs to learn how to act like a woman, with the dignity of a lady –” Keelani snorted – “Maybe I should get a teacher for you, too,” he added in her direction.

“I’m too old to act like the dignified virgin-lady in search of the perfect man to enjoin,” she commented on that, then leaned closer to Elem, “You should have sexual adventures while you’re young – I remember that one fling I had with the librarian, ah, sneaking into the library late at night-”

“-Yes, that is quite enough,” Nall held up a hand, “I almost regret getting you out of the corner.”

“If that’s how you feel, I can return,” she got up, but he reached across the table to grab her hand and gently have her sit down again.

“No need to be so dramatic,” he muttered, then cleared his throat. “Do you live far from here, Your Dain? It’s getting late, and it’s still raining, and I wouldn’t be opposed to housing you overnight if you have hours of travel to conduct to get to your place.”

“I live in North Torr, more about the Likasian hills,” Dain gestured with mid-embarrassment. “It’s not very long away ...at traffic hours,” he reckoned. “With this drench and the current state of my clothes, I suppose I would welcome your kind proposition,” he blushed a bit. “I really hope this doesn’t mean any trouble for you. I should possibly inform my parents so they don’t worry not to see me return.” It was a good thing that his pets could feed themselves on their own for most of them or didn’t require food everyday.

“Do you want him as your guest, or can I have him?” Keelani asked as she’d managed to find just a small sample of cream hiding in the bottom of the bowl.

“I  _ believe _ I’m capable of hosting my own guests, thank you,” Nall replied a bit faster than he’d intended, getting to his feet and nodding to his guest, “If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you to the guest room, but first,” he took them past the entryway and into the living room, where Garak’s flowers still throned next to the call central, “You can call your parents from there. I’ll go prepare some sheets for you,” he nodded a bit and then went upstairs.

Moments later, Keelani started doing the dishes while humming loudly, and Elem went into the living room too, to stand in the door, out of view, to simply watch, and listen. It didn’t take long for the call to be picked and Enar Dain appeared on screen – a mature man in his late forties, athletic and with something rather rigid about his expression in that moment.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“In Paldar Sector,” Sokal answered. “I was kindly given shelter.”

“By whom?”

“Nall Rokat,” the young man flushed. There was a silence.

“And how did that possibly happen…?”

“It’s a long story, father, but his son is new at the Bureau,” Sokal answered.

The other chuckled bitterly while a woman came to sit by his side – she wore a gown but her hair was still dressed elegantly, and a snake slithered around her neck.

“Give me some space, Enar,” she complained, “and don’t interrogate him when he’s invited somewhere; you’re not at work.” She leaned forth and the snake opted not to get onto Enar after all, moving toward the screen instead. “Sokal, dear, did I hear right? Is it  _ Nall Rokat _ …?”

“Yes,  mother. His offer was most kind.”

“You’ll tell him we are most thankful,” his father said. “I don’t know how it is in Paldar, but here it was hailing icicles the size of tama eggs just half an hour ago.”

“All that is because of the climate, if we hadn’t messed with this planet so much-”

“-Isar,” he interrupted her – she sighed.

“Well, let’s not hold you much longer then. Be kind with His Rokat and his family. And come back tomorrow. Lakanet must have felt something was out of the ordinary; she’s been unusually snuggly,” she patted the snake.

Sokal giggled.

“I’ll be tame. Have a goodnight you two, and you too, Lakanet,” he got a bit closer from the screen, cooing at the snake. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Enar rolled eyes and ended the transmission. Sokal sighed pleasantly, turned around and spotted Elem.

“Eavesdropping, were you?” he winked.

“No,” Elem denied, “I just got here. I wanted to see the snake – it’s somehow smaller than I had imagined, but very cute. And your parents seem nice,” he thought to add, smiling a little, “I’ll be heading to my bedroom – it’s the one opposite to that of the children. If you want to, you can see me there, when it’s silent.” She smirked and jolted off of the wall to walk away, just like that.

No, really? In her  _ father’s _ house? That was shameless.

Heading to his room, Sokal caught glimpse of Elem disappearing in hers before entering his, where Nall was finishing to set the bedsheets.

“My parents asked me to transmit their sincere gratitude for your kindness as it’s been hailing ice eggs in  our neighborhood,” he told and they exchanged some formal pleasantries.

“I noticed the way you kept glancing at Elem during dinner,” Nall eventually decided to take the subject to the surface, gently so, warning Sokal not to read too much into her manners, or the lack of them, rather.

He reckoned her strength, still, when Sokal brought up her having survived in the Federation for twenty-seven years – a training in resilience, if not one in self-hatred – but this was Cardassia, Nall pointed, and the rules were not the same. Nevertheless, the old man could appreciate that she could make decent friends in decent positions.

“I would mind very little if the two of you kept in touch, he shared, “but don’t pressure her into more – she’s to be enjoined, I want her reputation to be a good one.”

Sokal chose not to be offended by the wording – Nall was tired and probably didn’t  _ think _ through his words and how they could be interpreted.

The Notator then let him go and waited for silence to fall on the house, and when it did at last, he went in the corridor and tip-toed to Elem’s room in which he snuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	7. I - Confessions in the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: the part with Timun contains many spoilers if you haven't read Ties and Wires; if you'd rather, you can skip to the next chapter directly

#  Confessions in the night

Elem hadn’t been entirely sure that Sokal Dain would dare to heed the invitation, but had nevertheless been sitting at the desk, reading an introductions article about Cardassian interfaces. The systems were rather similar to Trill technology, since most technology shared common ground in regards to logic – the most glaring differences were how Cardassian techs were allowed a larger margin for risk – failsafes weren’t a huge investment, probably due to a pressed budget and tough competition to get funding. He wasn’t surprised; Cardassian brilliance and their meagre resources made for a well functioning algorithm in the end, and it was probably more than sufficient for the  _ military _ , even though it seemed the  _ technicians _ might not always be of the same standpoint.

At last, she heard the doors opening behind her, and looked up at the mirror – she couldn’t exactly see Sokal , because the room was dark and her PADD was illuminating her face rather than her visitor. She crooked into a smile still, and laid a finger over her lips as she got up, put the PADD away and strode to the door, close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips. There, she reached a hand to the wall panel and, with expert moves, executed a locking mechanism she’d figured out from doing her research.  _ She _ was the only one who could open the door, at least for the moment.

Once she was sure it was safe, she laced her lips over his. The softness of the kiss soon turned into something more hungry and wet. While Sokal was more used to dominate, submitting wasn’t all unpleasant. As it appeared, it was even  _ quite _ pleasant and arousing to feel desired like this. He placed a hand on Elem’s hip, the other went for her hair, fingers burying in the dark mane; softly at first, but soon grasping it and pulling  it. He parted their lips, breathing against hers.

“We can’t do this now and here, Elem,” he murmured, still daring to pronounce her name. “Your father wouldn’t approve…” he spoke in between some more kissing, as a tease to punish her shameless daring.

“Then why did you come?” she asked just as cheekily, kissing him some more – on the mouth, the cheek, the neck…

He gulped as she clearly didn’t make it easy for him to resist to the urges she was inducing in him.

“Curiosity?” he answered truthfully. “I want to get to know you more… Not just your body, not just the ways to ignite you and pleasure you,” the hand on her hip searched for an access to her skin and found it, as well as the scales following the line of her hipbone – they felt soft and small compared to his. “Would you indulge in some more talking with me, Your Kel…?” he grinned.

“A fair request,” she led them to the bed and crawled backwards up to the headrest, sitting a bit more and increasing the light of the room just a little, so they could see each other. “And in return, I want to touch your scales. Does it seem a reasonable trade to you?” she patted the bed next to her.

“No,” he kept on smiling, a sorry expression on his face. “It’s not reasonable. If I let you do this, I would be allowing us both to turn into something neither of us wishes to become,” he whispered softly. “I  _ obviously _ desire you, and I’m still young enough to lust for such an indulgence, but I promised you I would court you. As such, I cannot let you behave like a slut, even if it arouses me greatly,” he had to wet his lips and swallow some saliva to help the increasing hoarseness of his voice. “As such… I offer talk for talk.”

Elem couldn’t hide her disappointment entirely, and decided that if that was what he wanted, they’d better keep a more decent distance indeed, so she shuffled him away from her. She looked at him thoughtfully, analyzing the entire situation like a strategical map. He was trying to use her, she suspected; it was her father’s status he was after, through enjoining her.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to fall in love with  _ anyone _ anytime soon,” she chose to tell him, trying to see how he’d react to that – Sokal listened carefully, focused and interested. “Those feelings can be so strong, and I’ve misplaced them greatly in the past. Still do, to a certain degree,” she thought of Garak and held a breath with tense resolution. “I am already in love with someone, and I’m trying my best to fall out of it. It won’t be done quickly, unless he gets my best friend killed.  _ Those _ kind of things do put a dampener on love.” 

“Do you have a best friend?” he asked. “Or several of them maybe?”

Elem sat up more rigidly and drew the blanket around herself, smiling at the ceiling as she told of Savras, Nakam and Torim Nar and the others from engineering studies… Dead ends in friendships and professional career. Sokal tried to picture the people but he truly knew more of the inside of aliens than anything else.

“As a child, I remember the first time I saw an alien,” he told her. “It was a Bajoran. I thought it was incongruous. It looked strange, incomplete, like some half-finished creature that could somehow talk and think. It was… puzzling.” He smiled and looked at Elem. “When it started to insult me, I grew really fascinated. My father allowed me to ask it questions.” He silenced, thinking about it some more, then sighed. “It’s so hard to imagine that there’s really a world beyond our borders, a world with all sorts of aliens living together, forming societies,  _ interacting _ with each other, with other cultures... From a Cardassian perspective, it sounds so wrong – we  _ have _ interactions with aliens in our colonies, yes, but… It’s different. Such mingling, like in the Federation, is against order, against nature, against everything good… but I can’t help but to find it all the more captivating. To me, it’s so distant and unbelievable that I have a hard time thinking of it like something that really exists. But you lived through it, you’ve been there, you’ve seen it, you ate their food, talked to those people, connected with them…” he shook his head, “You couldn’t be granted a position befitting your talents, but beyond  _ that _ part of the story, I feel that there is something so much more complex about it all. You made  _ friends _ ,” he insisted on the word and smiled warmly. “And you’re not telling me everything, I  _ know _ it. But that’s fine. I don’t want to cause you this kind of pain that the chest can feel when we steal from it. Relationships are treasures we protect, and it is good that you have an instinct for secrecy,” he approved, relaxing serenely against the wall.

Elem sighed a bit, glancing at him every now and then; he had to wonder what it was like to  _ never  _ get exposed to other cultures. Probably very comfortable.

“Tell me, Elem,” Sokal started again. “Tell me what you knew of Cardassia, of this world you so wanted to join…” he asked more softly. Forgivingly. It wasn’t Elem’s fault if she grew up secluded.

She didn’t answer for quite a bit, as she was quite aware that the truth would make her seem awfully naïve. Eventually she got up and started to put on her engineering suit, since her own semi-nudity was getting to be a reminder that Sokal had just told her off for being an actual slut. Then, she turned the chair around and sat in it, watching Dain in his loneliness on the bed.

“My mother desperately wanted me to  _ stay away _ from Cardassia. I think she wanted to protect both me  _ and _ my father – she forbade me to learn anything about my people. So I... did as she’d said,” Elem momentarily slunk into the skin of Melekor, crossing his legs a bit and laying his hands at his knee while watching Sokal for any sign of judgement and finding none. “She had me study law and psychology. While I was rather talented at both topics, neither of them truly appealed to me. I switched my studies to engineering and when the time came to choose a specialization, I picked starship engineering. I’m a ship’s engineer – I can maintain ship engines, as well as weaponry, sensors, intercoms, plasma conductors, replicators, transporters...” he waved one hand in the air then leaned back in his seat with a more thin-eyed gaze at Sokal. “We were all  _ very _ ambitious students, of which several were Joined, and we  _ all _ studied towards higher goals – Starfleet, Trillian fleet, freelancing… No one of us studied to become a public transportation engineer. You don’t  _ need _ a degree to become that.  _ I _ studied to become important.  _ I _ graduated top of my class. My choice had nothing to do with Cardassia, but it had everything to do with  _ me _ . I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to be  _ vital _ , to be  _ somebody _ , but I became nothing. I knew nothing about Cardassia, but I wanted to come here because I  _ thought _ I’d have the chance to be useful here. And I would have, if my mother hadn’t lied to me. Now, all I’m reduced to is breeding stock, and I can’t even kill myself, because that would be like killing my unborn children. Or Nall’s child. I couldn’t do that to him.”

“Criminal death used to be an option…” Sokal guessed. “I can understand… However, you are wrong. You may be nearing your thirties but if you wanted to become _somebody_ , you aren’t meant to be _on_ a ship. With all due respect to the military, I don’t know the name of a single board engineer ...but we often hear of the women who design those ships, weapons, shields, probes…” he smiled. “With your knowledge of alien technology, you certainly would have so much to bring to us all. Do you understand how much of an advantage you have?” he looked at her with gleaming eyes. “Are you capable of producing blueprints? Prototypes? You have waited far too long for your opportunity to shine… You’re here now. Act up, Elem, take it and make it!” he held up a hand and grasped the air with conviction. “Be who you are meant to be. And if you need help, supplies… _ask._ _You_ might just be the one a number of people have been waiting for.”

Elem couldn’t quite muster the same enthusiasm, feeling rather annoyed with Sokal instead – first, he denied him sex, and now  _ this _ .

“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” he said acidly, “You’re not an engineer. You’re a doctor. To you, it doesn’t matter which field you’re in, because it’s all about bodies and they are all the same,” he waved a dismissive hand to the Notator. “I’m a  _ ship’s engineer _ . I don’t care if I make a name for myself, I care about the importance of being there, in the moment, in the hardware. I solve dirty problems as they occur,  _ where  _ they occur. I prevent disaster. I call off the self-destruct, prevent warp core implosion, I seek out the root of cascading failures. I listen to the hum of the engines, the trickling of energy behind plated walls. I learn the quirks and personality of a ship, I  _ make love _ to that ship. I don’t expect you to understand the finer sentimentality of engineering; to you it hardly matters where you carry out your task, if it’s practical or theory. But to me it does. You don’t understand how I feel – how could you? You have what you want, and you’ll never have to let it go. It’s easy for you to be enthusiastic about my  _ opportunities _ .” He realized he’d raised his voice towards the end, and quieted down as abruptly as he spinned the chair around to look at the PADD in front of the mirror. Tech manuals. Frustrated, he grabbed it and threw it into the nearby wall, then leaned his elbows against the table and rested his forehead against his hands, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down.

“I… did not mean to upset you,” the Notator said in a voice turned dryer and more rigid by a hint of fear. “I reckon I don’t know a lot about engineering, and this is a strong shift in your life. You’re here, you have to reinvent yourself completely, your life is nothing like what it used to be… I honestly don’t know what I would do if I were in such a predicament,” he admitted. “I’m sorry…” he got up and approached her, or him maybe, he wasn’t sure. “I suppose I should give you time to settle, find yourself some more…”

“I don’t have to find myself, I have to  _ sacrifice _ myself,” Elem muttered as she turned even further away in the chair. “That’s why when you delivered me, I was at ease. When in complete submission, denial of potential doesn’t hurt so bad,” he smiled and suppressed the tight feeling in his throat as he got up and went to the door, where he turned, his unwavering black eyes staring into Sokal’s. “That’s why I’d be content to exist as nothing but a brainless slut, a fuck puppet, a sex toy – it’s comforting. I get to be unimportant, replaceable, it’s brutal and it’s honest. And I prefer it to the preface that I somehow would have a functional place in society, one I’d enjoy – why should I strive to be important, when I can’t feel it?” he laid his hand on the wall panel to unlock the door and let Sokal out.

“Stark and shameless,” he blew, standing up with hands on his hips. “But you’re right, Cardassia is about sacrifice. We’re not people, we’re a society. We’re not individuals, we’re numbers. None of us is irreplaceable, but none of us is allowed to take their own lives, because these never belonged to us in the first place, and to kill a person is to steal from the State. In most cases, at least,” he nuanced the statement. There was something truly sick about Elem, but intoxicating too.

He approached but stopped to look at her some more instead of exiting. The blackness of her eyes brought darkness in his own.

“You liked it, what we did…” he muttered. “I liked it too… now that’s a problem,” bitterness showed in his voice. This kind of danger wasn’t anything he’d wanted. “You weren’t the slut.  _ I _ was. You fucked me over.” She used him. She’d do it again. “You’re not the one who’s unimportant and replaceable. You’re precious and unique. I’m not,” he spoke shorter sentences to better control his voice in hope not to betray his feelings. “I’ll return to my room,” he decided to retreat like a wounded animal.

Elem’s lips twitched a little as she realized she’d hurt him – she thought of how he’d looked in the sunlight earlier that day, sitting on the bench, waiting for her, how he’d seemed so sweet and innocent, how she’d cared very little to get to know what kind of a person he was.

She slipped between him and the door; if she let him go now, he’d never want to speak to her again.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she resolved to say, and then swallowed and looked at him, “And I lied to you. I don’t have any friends. I don’t keep friends. They are nothing but allies to me. What I feel for them, I can change at a moment’s notice – if I choose to no longer care for them, my feelings go away. When I no longer have use for them, when they can no longer serve to protect me from harm, they cease to be important to me. I’m a cold, despicable being. I’m calculating, abusive and distrustful. I don’t  _ want _ to be, but I am. And I’ve taken advantage of you – you’re a sweet, warm, caring, innocent and beautiful man. You’re everything I’m not,” her voice choked a bit and she leaned against the doors and finally looked up at him, her eyes wet. “I hadn’t even realized that I was using you. That I had so entirely disregarded your emotions, your entire person. I only realized there, afterwards, what I had done. And I was... shocked. I don’t know when I turned into this kind of monster, and I don’t know how to stop. I’m scared,” she blew.

When, how,  _ why _ he’d dragged her to him and wrapped his arms around her, Sokal wasn’t sure, but he did.

“I’m scared too…” he whispered. “For a moment, you made me a happy man…” he gulped, and his throat hurt hard. “Now, I don’t know… I just wanted to get to know you more, not to…” he didn’t manage to finish his sentence, just shaking his head in short motions of disbelief, shame and horror. “Questions… answers… It was supposed to be just that…”

Something wet rolled down his cheek and he had to close his eyes while his throat turned drier and drier. He felt lost.

“You don’t care for yourself, do you? How could you care for others when you want for nothing but to be a tool yourself?” his voice cracked but rendered his speech easier at last. “If I hadn’t registered you, I’d think you’re from the Order, that you staged all this to destroy my career.  _ They _ are this kind of people… They’re bred for this. To be like this. To care for nothing, for no one. That’s why they’re feared and hated,” he sniffled and hugged her closer. “I fear you but I don’t hate you… Not that you care, I suppose…!”

His words fell from his lips as plentiful as the raindrops outside, but Elem could only hear the first ones, ‘ _ you made me a happy man _ ’, and they made her feel sick. Sick of herself. Sick of what she was, what she’d done to him, what she’d done to Timun, to Garak, to Glain just before she’d tried to take her life... This was what she was: other people’s pain. Elem wanted to say she’d never hurt him, but what kind of sentiment was that, when she’d already committed the crime? She couldn’t cry, but she could feel Sokal’s tears as they left his eyes to stain her skin.

“I used to care,” Elem whispered as she held him close, feeling his heartbeat through her own chest, “I used to believe I could bring something good, that I could, perhaps, bring happiness, that I could nurture and care. That there was a place for me where I didn’t turn out to be this  _ thing  _ that keeps on causing harm. But then I attacked Glain,” he gulped and swallowed, “and I realized that there’s no such thing as a good me. I... tried to shoot myself, then, but I didn’t want him to see. He stopped me. I  _ wish _ that he hadn’t. I wouldn’t have hurt you if I were dead, you wouldn’t be scared of me if I were dead. I wouldn’t be in pain, if I were dead. I’m forced to watch what I do to others, and I don’t know how to stop, I want it to stop!”

“Come,” Sokal tried to compose himself and dragged her back to the bed so they could sit down.

He felt cold, empty and too full at the same time.

“I… I don’t think there’s a gentle way to say it but…  _ It’s Cardassia _ ,” he held her face and sighed with resignation. “It doesn’t stop. It never stops. There’s a reason one of our greatest pieces of literature here is called  _ The Never-Ending Sacrifice _ . All we have for ourselves is order. Perfection. Normality. Conformity,” he enumerated. “Elem… There is hope for you yet. Don’t give up now… I know it’s hard, but I’m holding your hand and I’m not going to let it go,” he tightened his fingers around hers.

He closed his eyes for a moment, stilling his breath before continuing.

“Saima… My wife,” he said and looked at her again, “She was this brilliant woman. She was a Notator, like me. She ...loved children,” he snorted. “We’d been enjoined for two years, we’d tried so much to have children… until we found out she’d become infertile,” he pinched his lips. “Everything she wanted… she realized she couldn’t have it. For months, I held her hand, I talked to her, I cared for her… It took time to talk her out of crime, to set her back on the tracks of her life. She opted out of her own career as  Notator, because it was too painful. Instead, she decided to devote herself to research infertility, probably with the hope to maybe find a cure somehow, for herself and others…” he smiled sadly. “It may not feel like it now, but I promise you, Elem… There is hope for you yet.”

She rubbed his fingers idly with her thumb and shook her head, numb eyes wandering to look at him again.

“I’ve lived on hope for so long, I’m tired of hoping. I’m sorry, Dain,” she lifted his hand to her lip and gave his fingers a kiss. “I didn’t mean to burden you with all of this. I’ve claimed your energy and I’m not even the one who is hurt; it’s you – you’re the one in pain. I should be the one offering comfort,” she smiled sadly and dared to look at him. “You’ve been through so much already, you don’t need me to add to it. You didn’t care to have sex with me earlier today, but after I told you of what Mister Rokat has planned for me you... you changed. Now you want to know me, you want me to feel for you, fall for you, so you can enjoin me and gain status. It’s a lot of pressure I never wanted. I just... I just wanted to be your nobody. That I’d owe you nothing.”

He looked at her and let out a little ‘ _ Ha! _ ’ before it turned a bit more of a laughter.

“You  _ thought _ I was hunting for  _ status? _ ” he looked at her with amusement. “I’m a  _ Notator _ , Elem. I outrank both my  _ own _ parents. I could live here in Paldar already if I only  _ required _ to be granted a house. I live with them in Torr simply because we’re very close and I’d rather wait to be enjoined before moving in this sector – if I must go through the hassle of getting a good housekeeper and moving all my things and my pets…” he chuckled. “But you’re right… I did think I’d rather have sex with you before you might get enjoined away,” he confessed. “I don’t blame you for thinking that however… Does show you’re as paranoid as any Cardassian,” he smiled. “Can we just agree not to argue over which one of us is hurt the most or should comfort the other most and… just do it?”

Elem looked at Sokal where he sat in the dim room; his eyes seemed a little sore from the emotion, and his hair was a bit disorderly, but he still was very fine to look at.

“You were so very beautiful when you sat on that bench in the sun beneath the arches,” she chose to tell him, setting a hand to his cheek. “I was tempted to watch you from a distance, but I had to come close and... and now I fear I might have destroyed any sense of trust we could’ve ever had for one another.”

“I don’t know…” he said. “It took tears, true, but at least I believe you finally told me some truth and let me see a bit of who you are. It’s never really flattering…” he agreed, “but I couldn’t have trusted a facade, however pretty and alluring…”

He took a deep breath and caressed Elem’s hair.

“You know… it takes effort to care. My father is an interrogator, my mother is a dentist… I got to see people suffer under their care, and I still remember the day I pulled out our cat’s teeth because there were no dead voles to operate on. I was a child, and not entirely conscious of the consequences it would have… It didn’t feel as nice when my father put down the cat because it no longer could hunt, and my mother cried because of me –” Elem couldn’t help but chuckle a little as she pictured the story in a way that, perhaps wasn’t funny, but still endearing – “Sometimes I think of all those things I did as a child… I was such a little monster. I hated other children as much as they hated me, I made them fear me and delighted in it,” he smirked bitterly. “Yet somehow, it changed when someone started to like me. I didn’t understand at first but he was rather stubborn. He made me care. It may be my turn now to be stubborn,” he smiled at her.

“Children  _ are _ monsters; it’s not in their nature to be otherwise. Their brains aren’t developed enough to grasp things on a large scale, and it is at this age that they learn what one should be used to and what should be perceived as shocking,” Elem ran a hand up Sokal’s spine and shaped his fingers into claws at the line of his hair. “I believe your parents exposed you to those things to ensure that you wouldn’t be traumatized in the future, were you to pick up either of their careers. It’s thoughtful of them,” he removed his hand to lay it on his chest instead. “I wonder what would have become of me, had I grown up here. I was an extremely awkward, stupid child: I couldn’t fathom simple concepts such as cruelty and abuse, and I never could see myself as the same kind of creature as my peers. I was different, so I had to adapt to what was normal to them, which could be  _ anything _ they dictated was normal. If we had been children together, you would’ve probably destroyed me, and I would never have understood you were being cruel. That’s how much of an idiot I was.”

“I’m not so sure. If you didn’t understand cruelty, then I wouldn’t have targeted you and what I did wouldn’t have worked on you. I was after the dominant ones. I framed them as thieves to shame them, I destroyed their things without getting caught… I was vicious,” he said with empathy for his past self. “But you’re right. Cardassian parents are thoughtful, that’s why they take their children to their workplace, to prepare them,” he too ran his hands over her body. “There’s no saying how it would have been if you’d grown up here, but now you’re here and that’s all we can really care about. You’re here, you’re smart and you’re incredibly sad, but you’re not alone. It can hurt not to be alone… it forces you to care for others, to go on when you just want to stop, have a break once for all,” he sighed and hugged her. “Pain’s good… You’re just going to have to let it out, express it. If you’re in pain, it means that at least, you care for something. Else you’d just be numb, you’d feel nothing at all. I tell you, there is hope for you yet,” he nuzzled her. “I’d like to come back soon and do those brain scans to see if I can come up with some proposition of treatment to help you feel better. And if you’re worried about burdening me ...I guess I could ask you to let me mention your case in Moset’s next symposium so I can show off a little,” he joked.

Elem sighed and placed a hand against Sokal’s chest, gently pushing him away before she got up from the bed.

“There is something you  _ could _ do to help me,” she figured as she turned around. “I need to get in contact with Doctor Crell Moset, for my own reasons. Do you think it’d be possible for  _ you _ to contact him on my behalf? I have some questions only he could answer.”

Sokal rested his forearm on a knee, holding his chin and tapping the edge of his jaw in consideration.

“I suppose I could. Talking about questions,” he brought up, refraining a yawn, “Has His Rokat already contacted a surgeon to alter your genitals back to their former state?” he asked but held up his other hand. “It’s private, I know. I simply needed to bring it up because of your analysis. You told me you were taking testosterone, but when I checked the formula of your medicine, I didn’t find any. Are you conscious of this? And… conscious of the consequences? You are going to undergo puberty again, you should start a reproduction cycle hopefully, but the unused nesting tissues will need to go…”

Elem stared at Sokal in horror.

“What?” she burst out, a tint of color raising to her neck and cheeks, “No! I – no! I know he wants to do it soon, I think he has someone in mind, but I don’t... and I’d rather talk to Moset, first. I  _ have _ to talk to him first.”

Sokal moved his hands quickly as to suggest she speaks in a lower voice.

“Alright, alright, I’ll contact him,” he assured, “but in the meanwhile, you should maybe get yourself some testosterone. It’s not wise to stop now. I’ll write a prescription.”

Elem nodded a bit, then jumped forward as the door opened from behind her. A very tired Nall dressed in a pale yellow nightgown was standing there. Grumbling, he turned up the light levels – the first thing he saw was Sokal (who stood up at once,  tightening the folds of his own gown, clearly quite embarrassed), at which his eyes narrowed, then Elem, to whom he gave a questioning glance. At  _ least _ she was fully clothed, even though Dain was dressed  _ rather _ indecently for visiting a lady’s room.

“I invited him over,” Elem interjected before Nall could say anything, “to discuss personal, medical matters.”

“And he needed to be half-naked for that?” Nall asked with scepticism then shook his head, “Nevermind that – if there are any medical concerns, you should share them with  _ me _ .”

“It’s… It’s about the testosterone your… Elem is taking. Or no longer taking, rather,” Sokal tried to explain and went onto repeating the predicament. “Considering the complex nature of her body, I also thought the advice of an expert might be necessary to ensure no harm is done. I thought of contacting Doctor Crell Moset.”

Nall made a tired sound and went to claim Elem’s chair in front of the mirror; he made an even more tormented sound as he sat in it.

“Crell Moset? And where is he now? The University of Culat? I  _ had _ a good idea of whom to contact for this, but I have to reconcile with the fact that I’m not a medical expert,” he sighed, feeling like he did nothing but sighing lately. “Is it what you want, Elem?” he asked after a while.

“I – yes,” she hadn’t expected to have her opinion asked for.

“Then I suppose I’ll oblige. And His Dain will also hold the responsibility for finding the right hands to perform your surgery, but he’ll make sure it happens soon,” Nall sent him a meaningful glare. “If Doctor Moset is  _ too busy _ , you’ll have to find someone else, understood?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Sokal nodded in agreement. “I might have to perform those brain scans soon, considering that anti-dysphoric drugs may be required, but we can’t be certain of the effect they would have on a hybrid brain-” he stopped there. “I’ll just save the details for  now. It’s late, we’re all tired, and we certainly need some rest. If you’ll allow me, I’ll return to my room,” he looked at them both, paying Elem a gentler smile before they all retreated to bed for the night, unaware of what was going on in the Munda’ar Sector, and the consequences it would have on the next day morning.

##  * * *

Timun had no idea of how long he’d gotten to stay in this room. He’d lost all notion of time. He was hungry, and his only comfort was that, at least, he’d found a bathroom corner.

When the door opened again, after what felt like fifty thousands lives of a symbiont, two men came in and put earcaps, a blindfold and a gag on him again before dragging him away. He didn’t even try to fight. The thought didn’t even cross his mind. He was dragged to some place, sat on a bench and his hands were put on the edge of a table before the sensory-depriving apparel was removed. He blinked in confusion as he first saw he was seated at a table dressed for breakfast. Presiding to his right, Setik sat comfortably on his chair, seemingly relaxed as he sipped from his cup while reading a PADD in a most casual manner. Timun looked around the room, not understanding where he was nor what was going on. The walls were plain and only one of the guards remained in the room, phaser close at hand. Looking down Setik’s chair, the Vulcan noticed one of the blue-purple tiger cubs he’d nursed laying there, toying with a mostly dead vole.

He startled when Setik suddenly addressed him.

“Ah, Lykes. How’s it going for you today?”

Timun looked at him blankly for a few seconds then blinked. He wasn’t computing. The other nodded and returned his attention to his PADD. The Vulcan-Trill waited and looked at the food. Eventually, his tongue darted from in between his lips and he licked them.

“I’m afraid you can’t have that,” Setik answered to that. “You’re not wearing any clothes. No clothes, no food. And you would need some table manners too,” he finally set down his PADD. “Are you hungry?”

“I… Maybe…” the alien muttered.

Setik nodded.

“Do you want clothes?”

He got a nod back for answer and clapped his hands. The guard let a teen boy come in to bring Timun some of his clothes. The Vulcan-Trill looked at them with a bit of shock and touched the fabric as to be certain they were real, then glanced at Setik to be certain he was allowed to put them on. The agent just shook his head positively, as if he didn’t mind the implicit question.

Carefully, Timun got up from the bench and started to dress up, realizing some of the clothes had been pulled inside out only as he put them on. He had to take them off again, pull them back on the right side, and put them on again. Setik didn’t seem to have paid attention, seemingly more focused on his pet.

“Now that you look more civilized, let us begin,” he poured lukewarm fish juice in Timun’s mug and served him some fried zabu strips and fish eggs cream. Then took a strip directly from the serving plate and dipped it directly into the bowl of fish eggs cream. He took a bite with a sound of satisfaction – “Delishious!” he commented while munching with an open mouth.

Timun gave him a disturbed look before reaching for a stripe to mimic him – he jolted back when Setik leaned forth, glaring at him.

“You have to use the chopsticks! The other hand lays on the table! What sort of barbaric creature are you!?” he almost spat food in the alien’s face, then leaned back in his chair, judging him ostensibly as the poor doctor tried to hold the chopsticks correctly.

The wood was bent, which made it very hard to efficiently pick anything with it. Eventually, Timun succeeded, albeit acrobatically.

“Now, where were we?” Setik kept on eating while talking. “Oh, yeah, the Ra’Shakiin. Did you tell us everything about it?”

Timun cleared his throat a little before answering.

“I… I think I did?” he blinked. His eyes went wide and he screamed in pain as Setik swiftly planted the serving fork in his right and, leaving it to stand there. The half-Vulcan stared at it, gasping and horrified, holding himself to the table in case he might faint. The Cardassian rolled his eyes.

“So, you lied.”

“I… I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Timun approached his other hand, trying to figure if he should let the fork there or not – at least, the dents prevented the bleeding.

“You will have to do better, Lykes. Do you understand that my patience is limited? I treat you well, I invite you at my table, I let you eat my food… And what do you repay me with? Lies?”

“I didn’t lie about the Ra’Shakiin! Everything I told was true!” – Setik caught the tip of the fork and moved it a bit, causing the other to cry in pain and fear – “It was true! It was TRUE!” Timun insisted. “I… I only didn’t get to tell about Maniel!”

“How could you do this to Maniel?” Setik gave him an outraged look. “All this time, you were talking about the Ra’Shakiin and you didn’t mention him? Why?”

“Because he’s dead and… and-” he started crying as his nerves broke down and his dizzied head started to spin, “And Elem hates me! I only wanted to protect him!” he broke into sobs.

Setik removed the fork without emotion.

“Eat your food instead of crying,” he resumed to eating as well. “You’re going to have to tell me that entire story, I’m afraid. Else I will have to ask Elem.”

“Please, no!” Timun reacted instantly. “I beg you, don’t! Don’t touch him! He’s not responsible of anything!”

“Talk, then. And  _ do not forget _ any detail this time, Your Lykes. If you wish to ever see your world again… show me some kindness.”

Timun nodded, gulping submissively and taking his chopsticks with a shaking left hand as the right one was bleeding and hurting.

“It’s… it’s a long story…”

“I love long stories, Your Lykes. And I want to know everything.  _ Absolutely everything _ ,” Setik grinned and wiped some green blood from the Vulcan’s hand to taste it. It did have a different flavour, coppery indeed.

Alternating eating and talking, Timun set himself to tell everything. “To tell about Maniel, I must tell of Elem, and Melekor, and Ywanna, and Jaden, and Dziana, and Savras… and myself,” he said before starting a tale of his life. Of his conflictual relationship with his father, of how Dziana was conceived, of Jaden’s regular blackmailing and of his decision to come to Cardassia to be out of his reach and away from his family during pon’farr.

“I did not think my visum would be approved so fast, I thought I’d meet someone on the station who would be interested in this experience,” he told. “And I did. For a time,” his voice turned bitter and sad.

He told of the Dopterian, of Melekor, of the abandoned bottles of Romulan ale and his first stay in detention, and Jaden’s threat too. “That’s when I first met Savras, a friend of Melekor. She was gorgeous and so I proposed her to date me, and she accepted. But it isn’t time to tell about her yet.” He went on about he and Melekor’s conflicts and how he’d nearly killed his roommate and then saved his life. And turned himself to detention. How Melekor and him had another argument right after he’d left the infirmary and freed Timun. How Melekor provoked him and how the aggression turned into rough sex to the beat of ungodly music. And their return to the infirmary and detention. He continued with Ywanna and her abilities. Her manipulation of Savras, and how she’d read Timun’s secret in his mind. “She is a powerful person, dark and mysterious, but you certainly know more about her than I do.”

“Tell me  _ everything _ , Your Lykes,” Setik reminded him the only rule.

“She has connections. She conditioned her son through telepathic means to interpret pain as pleasure. If he were to be tortured, he would feel nothing but bliss. And when his empathic abilities aren’t contained, he can torture others and feel just as blissful from the pain they feel. She had people captured and she forced him to torture them when he was younger. One of them was a twenty five-year old Terran from Sussex named Adam Lindorm – he kept repeating his identity and who he was…” he gulped, looking at Setik who was awaiting the rest, “...until Melekor smashed his fingers with a hammer;  _ each _ knuckle,  he shattered with dedication – Adam screamed, but Melekor  _ forced _ him to ask for more, then drove an old-fashioned drill into his eyes,” he said, disturbed. “Because of his empathic abilities Melekor could feel his pain as if it were his own, and he got high from him. He was… just a teen… and then, he… He meticulously sawed that man off to pieces while he was still alive, bits by bits, joint after joint though the ... _ man _ lost consciousness and died in the process. Ywanna was displeased that he’d killed him so fast instead of making him last for longer, because it’d been a lot of work to acquire him,” he ended without emotion. “Melekor buried those memories as he grew up to be horrified with what he did, and refused to ever hurt anyone ever again. Those are extremely, extremely traumatic memories he wished no one would ever know about… And now… I’ve betrayed him and told you,” Timun concluded with a sad smile, ashamed with himself.

“How did you get to know of those things?”

“I melded with him. He teased me into looking at those memories in hope to scare me away from him. I refused at first, but then… I don’t know what possessed me. I guess I wanted to know and tell him ‘ _ it doesn’t matter, I am still loyal to you, I love you, _ ’ or something this stupid. And I told him…” he shook  his head, gazing distantly at this moment. “I was a fool. I crossed the limit, and now you know his dark secret.”

“What happened after Ywanna proposed to train you to better control your abilities?” Setik inquired, taking another zabu stick.

And Timun went on with the conflicts between Ywanna and Melekor. How he’d ridiculously attempted to embarrass her, how he’d decided to free himself from her blackmail by returning to Trill to find out whether he was Dziana’s father or not. And so came the time to tell more about who Savras really was, and how they’d talked at length of the Trillian Underground and politics aboard the Levossa, unaware of the monitoring. He told of Trill, of the trial and the night at the hotel. And the repairman. “He wasn’t really a repairman,” Timun had a bittersweet smile, “but the time hasn’t come yet to talk of Enkilan Devrail.”

Instead he went on about the news he got that Dziana was indeed his daughter, and how he’d learned that Doctor Bashir was the one to have observed Melekor’s intersexism, probably with the help of Garak. “Melekor pinned it on me because he thought I wasn’t coming back and didn’t want his mother to do anything to Bashir and Garak.” He continued with his return to DS9 with Dziana and how he’d met Glain and Melekor who was now called Elem and dressing as a woman. “I had no idea what the fuck was going on but I was way too happy about everything. Glain was really quite adorable and eager about his brother’s new name. Garak was a bit grumpy however, and it seemed to be because of the name,” Timun recalled and mimicked Glain’s comments about phonetics.

Setik observed with amusement. By then, they’d largely ran out of food and anything to drink, and he decided to order some more from the guard, with a raised fist and a gesture at the dishes. 

“A bit later that evening is when I melded with Elem and learned all those terrible things about him,” Timun said and explained in details what rough domination session they’d had all while discussing of love, how he’d beaten him, forced him to  _ sing a song _ and found he had such a beautiful voice for singing, how he’d gone too far by taking the memories offered to him and scared ten lives out of Melekor by showing acceptance. How the Cardassian drove him out of the room in favor of his brother. “He denied me to provide him aftercare… I honestly needed it for myself too. It was hard not to cry in front of Dzi,” he shared bitterly.

And then it was the trip to Bajor already, the arrival, the Cardassians being a bit bullied by the Bajorans and Elem telling of his interest to meet Crell Moset because he sounded attractive. “It started because the Bajorans shredded his bag and I had to mend it with a needle, and then the conversation derailed onto surgery and Crell Moset,” Timun explained. “Then we took a carriage to reach the sacred grounds of the temple where the priest was.”

He told how he and Glain unsuccessfully tried to convince him to help, with Glain making up things about Central Command, and then, how Elem suddenly started making up lies that they were in fact in the Cardassian Underground. “At that point, we knew something was up with him because Elem was always against lies, probably because his mother is such a liar and deceitful person herself. I melded with the Bajoran and it was ridiculously easy to get all the information Elem wanted. I showed him the face of the Trill man afterwards and he became pale like he’d seen a ghost. That’s when Glain somehow figured the identity of the man: Maniel Dalkar.” And so Timun told of Melekor’s best friend.

He didn’t linger over it for too long however, continuing onto the orphanage and the medical emergency with Elem in the facility in which Glain wanted to mine data. “The Bajoran engineer had just hyposprayed Elem with whatever drugs were in the medikit; he could have died  _ again _ ,” he let out a bit of emotion. “And her colleague seemed to be very amused by it all! That must have been the weirdest Bajoran I’ll ever have met. When we arrived in that Cardassian basement I had a second of doubt as to whether or not we did beam on Bajor, and he raised his arms to welcome us to  _ Cardassia Four _ .” He heaved a sigh but got interrupted by Setik.

“Detail the scientists,” he required.

“I believe the woman was named Nileka. She was the one-man team engineer in charge of developing the soil-reclamators in this area. Elem wasn’t very talkative about her. The man was a doctor called, ah… Juran. Glain was really upset about the man because he was hitting on him a lot, very shamelessly, and suggested he’d slept with Cardassian occupants to get privileges ...and missed the Occupation,” Timun made bit of a face. “I think Glain was flattered because he’s quite insecure about himself and finds reassurance in being sexually attractive.”

“That’s a most interesting detail about His young Rokat,” Setik appreciated, and Timun couldn’t fathom whether he was serious or not.

He went on with the return in runabout and asked Setik if he wanted to hear the songs Julian taught them – “Please, of course. You sang the Trillian sex songs, do not be prude over Terran children songs.”

And so the Vulcan obliged. Setik observed, rather impassive. He didn’t flinch either when the tiger cub decided to jump on the table, got scared by the bottle of fish juice and hurried back to the floor. Timun however had startled a bit and was starting to feel the weight of his bladder.

“Soon after we’d arrived on DS9, Savras was there and told me she’d seen my father. At that point, she didn’t tell me why I hadn’t seen her on the Levossa but I learned later that she had been exiled without being told why. Just a court summon, an accusation and it was over before she could even understand what was going on – swifter even than Cardassian justice: no lawyer, no audience, nothing! Ywanna knew of what was going on and was there. She offered to take her back to DS9 aboard the freighter she’d bought in hope to convince Elem not to go to Cardassia, and they were attacked by an unidentified Trillian vessel that completely wrecked their ship, but disappeared just before getting in sensor range of the station.”

He then had to go on with his father’s story. How he’d found him in his quarters, had to operate him in emergency and had Julian put him into stasis. Then Tixen’s coming on the next day, the mention of Maniel and the Ra’Shakiin, and Jaden’s abduction in the infirmary, followed by another stay in detention. “Garak was babysitting the Cardassian kids, and I don’t know how – because Garak didn’t do it – but one Gul Dukat got to hear that Glain was detained and complained about the outrage it was ...which it really was, honestly.”

Retelling the part about Ryx and the testimonies almost gave him a headache, as he had to remember what he said the first time first. He expanded on Savras’s mission to hunt Tixen and the Trillian terrorists to find Jaden, his worries, and how she’d tasked him to care for Melekor.

“And she proposed to me and I was so glad that I bought a bottle of Vulcan port, we drank and had telepathic sex pretty much all night long, and it was absolutely fabulous. Meanwhile, Elem wasn’t having such a good time. I’m not sure what exactly happened and how because I was otherwise busy, but Maniel Dalkar did come and Elem confronted him. Elem was shot with a ballistic weapon, and his friend tried to commit suicide with some kind of poison. They spent Maniel’s final hours together at the infirmary. Julian told me he put Maniel’s body in a stasis chamber, but some hours later, the corpse was stolen and all the medical data about him vanished from the computers.”

Setik seemed interested in the details, then pressed him to continue. It was Ryx’s second interrogation again… and Nysar and Qanaak’s arrival in the Klingon’s ship.

“She did beat the Klingon in combat?” Setik frowned in doubt at the mention of the holosuite combat between Qanaak and Savras.

“She’s going to be my wife for many reasons, including that one,” Timun beamed proudly.

“That is… if you ever get to come back to her,” the agent smirked.

Timun’s shoulders slumped a bit. 

“I’m doing my best to please you, I did what Garak asked me to…”

“Keep on with the story Your Lykes. We are not done yet.”

So the Vulcan-Trill went on. At least, they were getting to the end of it. He told of Ywanna’s advice, his attempt to apologize, the healing of Glain and Terek’s scars, his visit to Garak and their inspection of the Levossa – “Garak was unusually nervous and determined. To say that he was angry would be an understatement. He was  _ incensed _ . We inspected Savras’s quarters in the ship and he quickly had the idea to investigate the console for traces of a monitoring device. I believe he had the idea to do this because of something Elem must have told him about Trillian technology. He mentioned a  _ deceitful little bitch _ , and that sort of jargon wasn’t anything I’d heard from his mouth before,” he developed. “Somehow, he found out that there had indeed been a device, but it’d been removed just five hours before, which meant the Ra’Shakiin agent who did it had been on the transport and was possibly aboard the station, unless he’d somehow managed to beam off,” he hypothesized. “I don’t think Garak found him, but he practically blackmailed me into scrapping the entire quarters for traces of DNA, and so I did until I found the sample I brought with me. I knew I had to find Trillian DNA with no match in any database. I suppose it would be possible to create a clone from this person to know what they look like, or used to look like if they altered their appearance in the meanwhile – which I don’t think they did, because Maniel hadn’t altered himself, but again, I can’t judge an entire intelligence service with just one man,” he kept cautious.

Setik didn’t comment.

“Because of Garak, I practically couldn’t say goodbye to my mother and Dziana, but I was too stressed and possibly too afraid to be angry about it,” Timun ranted a bit instead, “I needed to relax and went to propose Julian to play racquetball with me. We didn’t spare ourselves and it was a tough match. For a Terran, he’s  _ really _ good.”

“Who won the game?”

“He did. He pinned it on my stress, but I believe his victory was fair. It was good to have this more normal moment together after all the weird things that had been going on. He did try to talk me out of going to Cardassia though, warning me of the dangers…” He shook his head. “I couldn’t back out and I wanted to take this chance to see this amazing world. Glain, Elem and Garak’s world,” he smiled. “And then the departure came…”

In a way, he was really glad to finally get to tell about the Maquis attack at length and in every detail, so his mind could really comprehend that those things had happened in reality and not in his fertile imagination. He wasn’t too proud of himself of course, but what happened was what happened. “And then someone started to wake me up, and then you were there…”

There was a silence.

“What exactly are you thinking right now, Your Lykes?” Setik observed him with sharp eyes.

“I… I don’t know –” Setik nodded a little and smiled.

“Hm, let me help you,” he patted Timun’s right hand.

It took a second for the Vulcan-Trill to understand what was about to happen when the Cardassian took his hand, and when he did, he started screaming already and drew his arm back – Setik glared at him and that was enough for the doctor to surrender his hand again although his strength was greater.

“I was thinking that I saw Ywanna!” he said hurriedly as Setik took the fork again. “And I heard you call someone, I thought you called Elem, but-” he howled in pain when the Cardassian plunged the dents in the flesh of his palm. “It wasn’t Elem!” Timun cried in pain, speaking hurriedly  as Setik took the fork off and prepared to stab his hand again. “Garak! I think Garak was there!” This time tears came out as he screamed again. “Elim! That’s what you called him! That’s why Garak was upset with Melekor’s new name being Elem!”

“You see, Lykes, I like it a lot better when you share your thoughts with me,” Setik appreciated.

“You want me to meld with you!?” Timun threw him a look of confused disbelief, tears running down his face.

Setik sighed and removed the fork.

“Keep on, Your Lykes. What happened after? Tell me  _ everything. _ ”

The doctor blinked a bit, shivering at the sight of the bloody holes in his hand. He had to hold himself to the table again and shuddered some more as the tiger cub went around him, sniffing. Setik patted the animal’s head and pressed his guest to simply go on. Timun took deeper breaths and started talking again, giving his more personal insight on the trip.

“I was quite delighted to care for those animals with you,” he admitted. “It gave me something to think of after all that had happened, and you seemed quite nice and open-minded. I even thought it would have been nice to get a chance to see you again once on Cardassia,” he admitted. “I should have known you were from the Order. I guess I didn’t want to think about it; it’d been enough trouble already. I didn’t want more troubles.”

He told of the moments he’d shared with Glain, of the extra care he’d given him and the children, and how he’d been relieved to connect with him some more. “I think he was starting to like me. To see me as a person and to like me.” He cheered up a bit with the tale of the landing and the first impression he had of Cardassia ...and Keelani. Her shameless questions, how he’d entertained her, how they’d laughed. It’d been fun. The registration with Kovat was a bit more confused – “I was so high with the drug, I hadn’t even understood he was proposing to host me. I would have said yes to anything because I could barely process what was going on, and I’m a submissive person who does what he’s told to,” he reckoned.

The tale of the lunch was embarrassing as well.

“I had figured that Kelar was very clearly courting him… I should have insisted some more, but I was afraid to be too intrusive or offensive. As a result, she reported him,” he sighed. “I hope he’s going to propose to her soon if he wants to get enjoined so badly. They’d make a very cute and nerdy couple, I’m sure they’d fare very well together. I’m sure their entire service thinks just that.”

At last, the tale ended; “I didn’t think your colleague was going to stun me. It hurt! I didn’t even see it coming. I was so willing to do just anything! But I suppose it was more practical to handle me this way,” he showed some understanding. “I’m really sorry for all this trouble, all you’ve done for me,” he gestured at the table and the room.

“Your Lykes…” Setik set his elbows on the table and laced his fingers, leaning forth a bit to look at him more closely. “Have people sometimes perceived you as ...idiot ...or daft?”

“Oh, certainly,” Timun agreed. “I’m submissive, naive, very candid, enthusiast and eager to do what I’m told to. And I have those issues with my emotions. I believe that can lead people into seeing me as a complete idiot. It’s practical at times, not so much at other times. I’m usually seen as a most harmless person, I believe.”

Setik nodded and drew his phaser out. Timun looked at it blankly.

“May I lay on the floor to be sure I won’t hit my head?” he asked.

##  * * *

“Niyal Revek?” Kyreen raised an eyebrow. “That’s a long time ago…”

“But it’s a possibility,” Setik maintained.

“It is…” He didn’t like it so much. The idea was rather disturbing. “Alright, we’ll look into it.”

“Concerning the Rokat family, I believe we don’t need to bring them here. They are talkative people as it is. I would suggest selecting a handsome flirtatious male for Glain and get him to tell us what we need to know –” Kyreen gave bit of a look at that suggestion – “I know, it’s been done before, but that trick never grows old with insecure young men of his kind. And he just had his scars removed. He’s ripe for a new harvest.”

The elderly agent let out a little laughter.

“Fine. I’ll figure something for Nall. And I know someone who’ll be interested to look into Elem…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	8. I - Questions

#  Questions

It was barely five minutes after Dain and Glain had left for work, time for the street to be clear – Tebran liked descents to be swift and effective, especially in coordinated operations. They beamed directly in the hall of the house and walked into the dining room, where the housekeeper was taking away Glain and Dain’s dishes. Nall, Elem and the two children were still seated, finishing their breakfast. The old agent didn’t need to glance at the colleague by his side to see the smug expression on Setik’s face.

“Nall Rokat, Keelani Dera’an,” Tebran addressed them, “you are to submit to State Intelligence for an ...interview,” he cared to speak softly. “No need to worry, it is  _ only _ information gathering. You knew this might happen someday,” he tried to be reassuring, then glanced at Setik, as to allow him to step forth as well.

“Elem Kel, you are coming with me,” the younger agent told and walked to her. “Your entire cooperation is expected so we may then return you safely to your host.”

_ That _ was a most abrupt ending to a perfectly good breakfast, Nall thought as he tucked away his napkin and turned in his seat.

“It’ll be fine,” he told his daughter reassuringly so not to make things worse, and got up and shooed the children to their room.

Keelani looked less enthused, however.

“And I suppose you’d like a cup of tea?” she asked with sarcasm as she went to put away the bowls, not waiting for an answer before she started the brewing. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m less than enthusiastic about you  _ vultures _ invading perfectly decent peoples’ lives.”

Nall stared at her in shock.

“Keelani, not now – I apologize on behalf of my housekeeper’s attitude: last time she saw one of you, it was to learn of her husband’s death –” she made a sharp sound.

Setik simply had Elem step aside before requiring transport. He didn’t even need to use his combracelet to pass the order – his colleagues had their eyes and ears on the entire house. The two of them vanished and Tebran stepped forth.

“I’ll start with Your Rokat,” he said quite simply. “We’ll go to your office, now.” He then turned to Keelani, “I’ll have milk with my tea, thank you.”

That said, he led the way to the Conservator’s office like he’d been in the house before. He let him enter first however, and closed the door behind them before taking a seat in front of Nall’s desk.

“So,” he shuffled a PADD toward the man, “I’ll be straight to the point. I want you to tell me of Ywanna Kel’s whereabout between these dates, and I want to know if she was away from your watch at any time after the last one. I know it’s a long time ago, but it is in your interest to remember…”

Nall looked down at the PADD and made a face, but still took it and skimmed over the dates.

“You won’t mind if I consult my calendar, would you?” the Conservator soon splashed his personal records on the wall’s large display, scrolling through them and commenting the events he remembered, starting with the enjoinment ritual of a couple of friends during which he had to leave Ywanna to his father’s watch.

“I believe she didn’t enjoy it very much; they didn’t exactly get along – he was a very normal man, as was his opinion on aliens.”

What had happened next? Those were far away memories he’d tried to forget… “Ah, there we go... those five days there, she went with me to work, and then on the fifth we went to pick up a shipment from – no, that was on the fourth, because she was wearing the blue dress – on the fourth we...” he closed his eyes to visualize better, “It was... windy. We had planned to go see an opera, but it was cancelled and instead we went to, we went to... the Tiluvus Gallery in Tarlak,” he remembered with satisfaction. “She didn’t steal any valuable artworks, did she?” he asked in further contemplation.

“Did she escape your guard at  _ any _ moment, Your Rokat?” Tebran asked instead. “Did she seem… nervous? Was there  _ anything _ out of the ordinary about her behavior? Did either of you see this person?” he reached to press a button of the PADD to display the photo of a young woman.

Her hair was kept rather short and tied in a practical bun, her eyes were a soft shade of brown, and the scales on her forehead followed a wavy curve to her hairline. She was rather mundane, but there was something about her gaze that betrayed something darker. Nall looked closer at the photo, squinted then looked at it from another angle and thoughtfully made a negative shake with his head.

“Do you have better photos? I think I recognize her, but I can’t exactly pin it on a memory – as for the museum visit? No, well, I gave her the privacy a man should for a woman who needs to visit the bathroom,” he cleared his throat and then tapped his schedule twice with his thumb. “The week  _ after _ , she fell ill and I left her in the care of my parents. No one had time to come out and care for her, so she was left to recover on her own. It took her – I think – a week and a half to recover enough that she could come with me, but the symptoms persisted for over two months, and she could only attend half-days of work with me. For the rest, she was here, in this house, resting.” He took a deep breath, “I believe the contract I signed  _ did _ allow other family members to look after her in my stead if necessary – I couldn’t exactly stay at home for two months just because she was a bit sniffly.”

“Of course…” Tebran nodded. “Was there any change in the behavior of anyone in this household during those two months? How did Ywanna Kel look? Did she have nightmares? Was she ...restless? Or prone to headaches? Were you worried for her?”

“Ah, well,” Nall paused and frowned, “in the beginning, she had a lot of nightmares, nausea, she was pale and weak. She had issues walking and moving around. At one point, she stumbled on her own feet and fell down the stairs – luckily I was there and could help her back to bed. All she’d wanted was a glass of water – she was so thirsty. As if she hadn’t been drinking for days. Was I concerned? Certainly. But there were no resources at the time to get a qualified doctor for her – the one who did come had never seen an alien before in his life,” Nall smiled a little. “He told her to drink a glass of Kanar with her breakfast, because... the alcohol might kill the disease, or something like that. I’m not so sure that was the reason she got better, but she regained strength rather quickly, and eventually the only thing that lingered was the sniffly nose. And I don’t like sniffly noses; the sound grosses me out.”

“A most relatable sentiment,” the agent nodded. “Do you have any suspicion that she ever used her telepathic or empathic abilities on anyone, Your Rokat?” – Keelani interrupted them only to bring them tea and they could continue.

“Not on anyone sentient. I know she connected with um... with Glinn... my housekeeper’s cat,” he cleared his throat embarrassingly – he wasn’t sure whether it was important or not, but knew that failing to mention things never worked out anyway. “She told me that if she didn’t relax around  _ something living _ , she’d go out of her mind.”

“And how did the cat react to this?” Tebran lifted his cup and blew on it a bit before attempting a sip. His hands started trembling a little and he had to put the cup down to hold to his knees instead in hope the unwelcome nervous shaking would go away – he might be old, he wasn’t going to let disease get in the way of his duty.

“Glinn manipulated her into giving him extra food,” Nall shrugged, then gave his guest a sorry look – he wasn’t going to mention the weakness the other had let slip, since doing so would be rude. “It was a cat, what else could be expected? He became a bit pudgy, then. I believe Keelani wasn’t very pleased.”

Tebran smiled with a bit of amusement.

“I’ll have to ask her about it then. I believe that’s all the questions I have for you at this point. If you could send in your housekeeper, I’ll continue with her. You may resume to your own occupations meanwhile. Out of this room, of course,” he nodded.

“Oh, good, thank you,” Nall got up and left the room with relief, though he was frantically going over everything he’d said in his head, to figure out if he’d incriminated himself. He didn’t  _ think _ so.

Keelani entered the room with a tea cup of her own, a softly green one – “Ah, I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,” she noticed he’d shifted to Nall’s seat, and she grabbed the ordinary chair to seat herself in front of the desk. As the desk was somewhat elevated, it made her seem rather small.

“I hope you’re enjoying your tea.”

“Very much so,” Tebran grinned. “I’ll have to mention it in your file – it’s getting to be difficult to find housekeepers who can brew it just right like this…” he mused, observing her a bit. “His Rokat believes your cat, Glinn, manipulated Her Kel into overfeeding him. Would you happen to have a sharper perspective on this? And on the person of Ywanna Kel and her influence on this household…” he stretched his lips some more, revealing teeth turned a bit yellow by many years of drinking tea. “I want to know every detail you might have noticed, especially those you haven’t shared with your employer. I’m especially interested in the period during which Her Kel was sick.”

Housekeepers often had much more to reveal than their masters.

“Aha, here for the gossips, I see,” Keelani appreciated as she laid her elbows against the armrests of her chair, so she could better enjoy the fumes of her drink. “I have to confess, I am grateful for the opportunity to speak freely; it doesn’t come often, and it’s not the easiest task to hold the keys to everyone’s secrets and still stay loyal to them all,” she took a deep breath. Where to begin?

“I believe that Her Kel was indeed ill, and that she picked up this alien flu together with the holoprojector set she’d received on a freighter earlier the previous week. She and Nall went to pick the package from one of the warehouses, I forget which one, I think five-five-two-three, but whether it was Ena or Hifa...” she waved a hand and sipped from her mug. “She spent the entire weekend setting the projectors up in this house – they are still there. We still use them, sometimes,” she gesticulated up towards the corner behind her. “You see, she’d connected with my cat, Glinn. According to  _ her _ , he wasn’t fat because she was feeding him outrageous amounts of food, but because he was bored and wasn’t getting stimulated enough. The holoprojectors are, in short, a toy for the cat. She bought those, and a program simulating preys. Of course, I  _ told _ her that Glinn would get tired the moment he realized they weren’t real and he couldn’t eat them. She didn’t listen to me – she  _ should _ have listened to me. The cat ignored the fake prey after only two days – didn’t smell right, didn’t taste right, that sort of thing...” she shrugged and then leaned forward. “The holoprojectors were probably used for something else. As I said, I believe she really was sick, but not  _ that _ sick. She created a holographic image of herself, so she could flee the house.  _ I _ believe she was having an affair with  _ yet another man _ , that woman...” she tapped the edge of her cup knowingly. “She had an affair with Nall, as well as his father. Oh yes,” she nodded at the other’s reaction, “they had it hot when Her venerable Rokat wasn’t around. Often, noisily and rough. He truly hated her for how she made him lust for her – not that she did anything in particular other than to simply exist. His venerable Rokat never was as loyal to his wife as he made everybody believe; he even tried to get it with me when I was new here – me! A sixteen year old girl! When he was an old man already! Did I have sex with him, you wonder? Once or twice. It was extremely indecent, and that’s why I agreed: the idea appealed to me,” she shrugged, “but then I felt bad for the lady of the house, and I put a stop to it. He nearly fired me – I had to threaten to tell her everything if he got rid of me. That shut him up. I got him good,” she pointed with her little finger at Tebran. “That said, Melekor Rokat surely wished he weren’t a slut. I believe he genuinely hated himself for it, and that he never got over his own guilt. Ironic for a Conservator, isn’t it? He never confessed. He died like an idiot before he could.”

“A most unfortunate accident, I heard,” Tebran looked at his own PADD with the notion that it indeed could be a lethal device if one played with the power cell in unsuitable ways. “Have you ever had any suspicion that Kel used her telepathic and empathic abilities with someone else, other than the cat? Did she have friends?” he asked.

“Sometimes I wonder if she didn’t mess with Nall’s head – he was infatuated with her. I think she was infatuated with him as well... but I am not sure a man  _ needs _ telepathic interference to fall in love, and considering he still loved her for  _ years _ after she left, I wouldn’t so swiftly assume he was under any sort of manipulative influences,” she stirred her tea and nodded to the agent. “Please, drink your tea before it gets cold. It will do you good, you know,” she licked her lower lip and smiled a bit as he actually followed her advice. “As for friends... she mostly kept with His young Rokat. His friends were her... not friends, but people to talk to. Let me guess... you think she made someone disappear?”

“And why would you think such a thing, precisely?” he looked at her with a bit more attention. It was a fine balance to maintain. He had to make sure not to scare her into turning evasive, but not encourager her into making up tales either.

“It’s the dates, you see,” Keelani flitted around, then went to the wall panel, opened an empty sheet and swiftly outlined five dates, corresponding by a two day margin, “I remember that month because three women went missing. The pattern of their disappearances corresponds with the pattern of Her Kel’s potential absence from this household – two-day intervals,” she drew arrows between them, “but then, as you can see, the pattern abruptly stops after her first week of illness. I alway suspected she started to smuggle women into Federation space, but that one of your sort caught up with her and precaution forced her to stop. The women all have in common that they were unenjoined, infertile, under the age of thirty, from well-renowned families  _ and _ their doctors all claimed that they were  _ not _ the sort of infertile woman who  _ would _ take her own life. And besides, bodies should’ve been found if there had been death. And the pattern is too convenient.” Keelani turned to grin at her guest. “I hope we are not dealing with another round of disappearing young women, because as far as I can see, that might be one of the reasons why you are here – after all, it would be a coincidence indeed if women started disappearing the moment Ywanna Kel’s only child comes to Cardassia. What do you think?” she knocked her knuckles together.

He nodded with appreciation.

“You’ve got a keen eye Your Dera’an, and a sharp mind,” he smiled while stirring his tea a bit. He silenced to take some sips and finish his cup. “Your cooperation is most helpful. I would hate to deter your enjoyment by revealing what we’re after exactly, so I’ll let you try to draw your own conclusions,” he got up, took his PADD back and went over the holoprojector to look at it a bit.

“A most expensive cat toy,” he nodded and turned over Keelani, hands tied in his back. “His Rokat should raise your pay, given how competent you are. Or enjoin you once he’s free. Shouldn’t linger too long or someone else might beat him at that…” he allowed himself to be flirtatious – he was too old to draw back on those things. “A good day to you Your Dera’an,” he paid her goodbye before setting his eyes on the surveillance camera. “Energize.”

##  * * *

Mid-morning at the Bureau of Alien Affairs was slow. Freyar was at the end of his shift, bent over a cup of noodles while he shared gossip with a visitor he’d been unable to assist. The visitor was an elegant man in his mid-thirties, with broad shoulders and a minuscule waist that made him look masculine rather than frail. Though what Freyar appreciated the most was his welcoming, warm brown eyes, for they were a most welcome change of atmosphere in a place so haunted by the cranky legacy that was Chief Archivist Damar.

They  _ did _ speak a fair bit about Damar: the unfortunate nature of his asthma, his difficulty getting enjoined due to the illness, the joy everyone had shared when he’d finally found a woman – and the disappointment when it became clear that he’d get no less cranky despite getting laid on a regular interval – “The only joy we ever get out of him is when he brings his children to work; they are energetic little soldiers of joy, and I am sure they will fare far better than their father.”

Then the topic shifted, skimming over other coworkers – Ziana Malar was quite a topic of her own: “ _ She _ was once courted by a very influential man, whose name I should not mention. He proposed to enjoin her – but she turned him down after she learned he’d pursued another woman at the same time. She’s grown to become very picky with men, so she’s not enjoined yet, but I believe it’s only a matter of time – she’s very clever,” Tsekel told in confidence, then lowered his voice, “and  _ Damar _ is attracted to her, it’s obvious for all to see that there’s something between them that shouldn’t be. But I do not believe they do anything unlawful – unlike  _ Kenor _ ,” and then the topic shifted to Kenor, who drank too much Kanar and had once been found masturbating in the cleaning supply room, “He was nearly fired, but called in favours and got to stay. Much to everyone else’s dismay.”

They then refilled their bowls with food, and Tsekel told of Dayar Edar. “I am sure the uncle gets more from that relationship than what meets the eye. I know that it’s only illegal in certain circumstances, but if you want my personal opinion – and you certainly do – I think it’s sick and should be banished entirely.” Then they discussed Glain Rokat, whom Tsekel described as too ambitious, probably gender-confused, incapable of courting women and  _ likely _ to try something with Dayar, solely because he used to be a she. Then, he spotted Glain somewhere behind the back of his chat mate, and cleared his throat.

“Here he is!” he waved Glain over, “Your young Rokat, this is Kylon, from the general health... something. He’s got three units of corrupted data no one can help him restore – I told him how talented a young man you are, so I’m sure you’ll be delighted to help him.”

Glain looked at Freyar with a bit of suspicion, then at the man, appreciating his elegance.

“I suppose so, and I hope those units are in a most dire state,” the young man clasped his hands in his back. “I mean, that sort of work is right up my alley, and certainly more entertaining than most tasks I’ve been given so far,” he justified himself a little.

“Oh, believe me, they are in a  _ most _ dire state,” Kylon answered in a smoky voice, flashing a small grin as he got up and walked over to Glain, “We can speak as we walk, Your Rokat. My tangled web of informative data is just around the block, and I do so enjoy the company of competent young men such as yourself,” he strode confidently through the corridor. “Should I believe the rumors when they say your family has let up its home to a half-alien? I am not prejudiced,” he thought to add with a chuckle, “I must admit that, even though I do not work in  _ this _ part of the Sector, I am still rather fascinated by that which is different and... potentially dangerous.”

Glain had to put himself on a leash not to respond playfully to the sexual energy radiating from Kylon – he  _ was _ supposed to focus on  _ women _ .

“I haven’t mentioned anything such to Freyar,” the archivist replied, trying to stay formal. “Where from would you hold such rumors?” Kylon might very well be one of Reyal’s allies, trying to fish for him. Glain favored to tread carefully.

“You’re not the only one who speaks to Freyar about  _ you _ ,” Kylon pointed out with clever logic, “So it’s true, then? And she’s... half-Vulcan, was it?” he squinted a bit and shook his head, “Like that man who got taken by the Order – were they related?”

Glain couldn’t help but snort at that idea.

“You’re curious, aren’t you?” he grinned. “But if you really must know…” he lowered his voice, a cunning glimmer in his eyes, “Yes, they are related. Intriguing, isn’t it?” he whispered. “Did you hear anything else about those two?”

Kylon didn’t answer, but instead stopped as they entered the balcony overlooking the garden below. Sun was glimmering in the statue, making it look almost golden. An equal waste of resources as it was a worthwhile investment.

“I hear that lovers who lose sight of each other are never further apart than their synchronized heartbeat can sing,” he answered as he held the railing and looked into the coy breeze. “It is sad, isn’t it? She’ll never meet him again, he’s gone for sure – all the Order seeks to touch, turns as black as night. I do pity her.”

Glain set his hands on the railing but didn’t let his eyes stray from Kylon anymore. Doubts were creeping upon him.

“You weren’t sent by Glinn Reyal,” he figured. “Are there any corrupted units or only more questions?” he tensed a bit. What was going on…? 

“Is there truly a difference, little one?” Something more fond distorted the otherwise predatory smile Kylon wore and he straightened up to turn to look at him more intently. “I know we didn’t end on the best of terms, and believe me when I apologize on the behalf of my kin. We should have spared you the pain of those memories; they were never yours to keep in the first place.”

Fear showed up in Glain’s eyes at once.

“Don’t,” he blew. “I’ll cooperate, I’ll do absolutely anything you tell me to,” his voice was as pale as he was. For a second he glanced at the gap over the railing. Four stories, a death sentence for certain if he jumped. He took a step back and found the wall behind him. He couldn’t do this, could he? There was a limit to how much selfish one could be. He couldn’t just go down to take Enkem’s memory with him to the grave, for all the hurt his father would be. Nall, Elem, Iltarel, Keelani… His throat was starting to hurt but he steeled himself. “What… do you want?”

“Let us go downstairs first. I intend on discussing this in a calm, civilized manner, and I happen to know of a nearby teahouse which will offer just that atmosphere. Please,” Kylon took a step toward the frightened young man, “We’re on the same side. I do not intend to harm you, nor anyone you care about. It’s just a conversation – and there is something for you in it. I know what happened to him. I know you want to know what I know.”

That statement clearly fucked up the boy’s mind and Kylon could see the paranoia building cities in his green eyes.

In a fraction of second, an entire world had sparked to life in the shocked mind: clearly, it was a trap. Yet, why would the Order go at such length to just make him talk when they could just coerce information out of him and erase the memories of the interrogation  _ this time _ ? To tell about Enkem was far beyond anything reasonable, wasn’t it? Obviously, it was a lure, and no information would be given in the end, Glain concluded.  _ Unless _ . ...Kylon said they were on the  _ same _ side? What did that mean? Was Glain to be reconsidered to join the Order? No, impossible. Though, what if he’d been part of the Order  _ all along _ but had his memories altered to be just some undercover sort of sleeping agent? And been just an archivist reviewing files for the Occupation? Or to infiltrate the Un… Did they know of his involvment in that… that  _ group _ ?

In that fraction of second, way too much doubt and confusion had gone through his tortured mind. He blinked and blushed before nodding.

“I… I suppose there’s only one way to find out what this is all about, then…” he stuttered and followed Kylon, trying to gather his composure and dignity.

 

The teahouse was conveniently sparsely populated: most patrons who had their breakfast there had either already left or not yet arrived, and so Kylon got to choose a table near the balcony overlooking the lower parts of the sector, while the tea was brought to them in a small clay pot, allowing them to serve themselves as tradition would have it.

“Now, since we are seated and – I hope – comfortable, I’d like you to reiterate everything that happened to you while you disobeyed your father and visited Terok Nor,” Kylon poured Glain a mug of tea, and then served himself, never ceasing to smile, “I have a feeling this will take a while, so I expect we’ll be here for a while too.”

“I see…” Glain pinched the ridge of his nose, just under his chufa. “I imagine you already know that Elem Kel is related to my father…” he started and told of his trip to the space station, his first meeting of his sibling and the mixed feelings that Melekor Kel had then sparked in him. The anger and betrayal he’d felt too, over his father’s whim to recognize Melekor as his own.

He didn’t try to conceal anything, although some of the things that had happened were rather embarrassing to narrate. As such, he was grateful that Kylon didn’t pry too much, instead showing more interest in Elem’s character. Her abilities, how she was raised, and more importantly, how she was formatted by Ywanna Kel.

“I believe she must have blurred his perceptions in a way or the other,” Glain told. “When I first met him, Melekor was adamant about hating violence, he said he was not  _ good _ at it. But he quickly proved to be capable of it, and when we were taken hostages by those Maquis, he threatened them. He told them his mother would find them and kill them  _ with her mind _ . I don’t know how exactly she would do that, but she conditioned him through telepathy to interpret pain as pleasure, and I suspect she forced him to do terrible things to some people, which would be why he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He wants to be a good person, like his father. It’s unfortunate that his mother had to be this awful, abusive, manipulative alien. I guess there are good reasons why Garak thought she was a dangerous person,” he held up his mug and took a sip. “I think Lykes knew more. He was terrified of Ywanna and left the station,” he shared and expanded on the chaotic relationship between Lykes and Elem.

That tale took him to relate the events on Bajor, and the return to Terok Nor. He had to talk of Maniel, Savras, Jaden, all the strange things that happened… it took long enough to empty the teapot and Kylon had to ask for another plate of buns too.

“Wait,” the agent held up a hand and gathered himself, “so this Maniel Dalkar, he was what? An agent of the Ra’Shakiin? And he died... how?” he had to ask for details in that complicated story.

“Ah…” Glain grinned widely, enjoying his position, maybe too much – he  _ knew more _ than the Order. That was blissful.

What was less blissful was to recall how much he’d cried that night, and a veil of sadness fell over his green eyes as he had to relive those memories. The anxious wait while his brother confronted Maniel, the infirmary…

“The first time Elem told me about Maniel, I had this feeling. I thought we were so alike with our tragic secret agents love stories,” he tried to joke, tears wetting his eyes. He took a deep breath before continuing, revealing the abduction of the corpse, the disappearance of the medical data, “It all felt like a collective hallucination, but it was real, I assure you. It was very real.”

“And you are entirely certain that Melekor remains unaffiliated with the Ra’Shakiin?” Kylon served himself yet another cup of tea, although that and the noodles he’d ordered a little before were starting to stuff him. “You say that he is talented at engineering – he uncovered data no non-Cardassian should have managed to dig out, and he devised that complicated plan to capture his friend... do you think he’d be capable of the kind of sabotage that occurred in the wake of Maniel Dalkar’s body’s disappearance?”

“Capable, probably,” Glain reckoned. “But he doesn’t have the motive. None of us had ever heard of the Ra’Shakiin before the Trill rebel mentioned it, and even Savras thought it was nothing but a myth. Elem was persuaded that Maniel was dead, and absolutely shocked at the idea he might be still alive. However, yes, she  _ is _ a genius engineer. But I have absolutely no doubt that she was but a circumstantial victim. There is no pattern that would evidence anything else.”

Kylon appreciated Glain Rokat’s arrogance with an amused chuckle.

“Ah, little one, we will see about that, will we not?” he sipped his tea and exhaled in delight. “I understand that your view of her is colored by family ties. That always  _ was _ one of your weak points. Affection blinds you,” he wet his lips and ended his cup, then got to his feet.

“Rest assured that this matter is to be dealt with. Elem’s affiliations won’t remain in the dark for much longer, and you...” he went behind Glain and laid a hand on his shoulder, “will be an invaluable asset in uncovering the truth,” then he leaned forwards, his lips brushing Glain’s ear scales, “just like in the old days.”

And then, they transported.

##  * * *

Setik and Elem had rematerialized in the warehouse. It was dark, the room was rather small and plain, the furniture was scarce, but just enough to fathom an office. In a corner there was a rug, and on the rug, there was a blue tiger cub, sleeping.

“Have a seat, please,” Setik gestured at the chair in front of his desk and sat on his armchair.

He laid his arms on the armrests and just observed his guest for a moment, swinging a little, right and left for some seconds. At last he stilled the chair and granted Elem a pleasant smile. She sat comfortably on the chair and watched him back  – clearly, she wasn’t uncomfortable with the way he studied her, nor the casualty with which he moved in his own territory.

“Elem Kel…” he spoke the name with fondness. “I’m glad to see you seem to have recovered pretty well since the last time we met,” he said. “A pity your mother didn’t stay with us for the rest of the trip, really… but she’s not here and we so happen to have questions that, if not her,  _ you _ might be able to answer,” he explained and got up to prepare some tea, setting water to boil before setting some boxes of tea on the desk for Elem to smell and choose from. “The first thing I’d like to know, besides which of those herbs you prefer, would be… do you have any idea who your mother really is, Your Kel?” he rested his arms on the back of his chair.

“Someone who knows too many people in too many places,” she answered the question in honesty – for all his pleasantries, she didn’t trust him a second. But most of all, she was relieved that this had nothing to do with Dain – she’d hurt quite enough people already, without adding him to the list. “Influential, powerful,” she expanded but briefly. “Whatever she is, I think she had planned on telling me – but I was upset at her at that time, for what she had done to me when I was a child. I didn’t want to hear her big revelation, and so she never told me. But I could give you a list of names of people she has mentioned in calls she didn’t think I overheard. When I was a child,” he offered as he leaned forward a bit to smell the tea better. In the end, he settled on the one to the far right.

“I would be most pleased to hear them,” Setik said and listened to the names while he picked the boxes back and poured some of the mix Elem had chosen in a teapot – aromatised redleaf with gumja berries, a good choice.

Elem frowned as he looked back into his memories to double-check himself. He wasn’t sure whether he should mention Crell Moset or not, but then took a breath and steeled himself.

“And Crell Moset. But I believe that was just a fleeting mention; I don’t think she ever spoke directly to him, only  _ about  _ him. And I believe he’s famous enough for anyone familiar with Cardassia to speak of him at least at some point.”

“Seems like a mundane and innocent topic of conversation,” Setik quietly poured the boiling water in the teapot and brought it to the desk, along with two glazed clay cups and a little platter of candies, some of which could be used as sugar – he put a violet one in his cup once he’d sat back on his chair, waiting for the tea to brew a bit longer.

“Ever since childhood, have you come to know what lays behind any of those names?” he asked. And clearly, a no would be a most blatant lie.

“I have, yes,” Elem swallowed a bit – tea was going to be very welcome, as his mouth was getting oddly dry. Nervosity caused his hands to shake, so he folded them in his lap.

“I now know what the Obsidian Order is, and I know Enabran Tain used to be head of the Order. I’ve also had the unfortunate opportunity to learn what the Ra’Shakiin is. The pattern that seems to connect all of these names is power and secrecy. And since it would be impossible to speak of all of those and remain alive at the same time, it stands to reason to assume my mother had some kind of agreement with all of them. That she... worked with them, somehow,” he looked down at his hands. “Timun Lykes believed her to be capable of murder,” Elem hesitated, then looked up at Setik again, “I  _ know _ she is.”

“How does that make you feel?” the agent asked with a hint of compassion, looking at Elem but not too much, as to still grant a bit of privacy to the feelings.

“I don’t know,” Elem answered instantly and honestly, “I suppress it. I’m good at suppressing memories. I want to be normal,” she answered mechanically, eyes starting to flicker back and forth – not between physical points, but between past and present.

“A laudable desire in this society,” Setik grinned. “You’re half-Betazoid. You have telepathic and empathic abilities, and it would seem that you enjoy… pain,” he said quite factually, taking the teapot and serving them both. “Oh, don’t worry for you and His Dain, it’s not a criminal offense by current law,” he said reassuringly. “Still… I believe even him was surprised by the amount and intensity of pain you can take and enjoy. Tell me, how did you come to ...appreciate those sensations in this somewhat enviable way?” he lifted his cup and inhaled the scent.

Elem blinked slowly. She was distantly aware that she felt dizzy, and she was highly grateful she was sitting down. She was pale, though, and had a difficult time focusing on forming an answer – she wanted to cooperate so badly, but she had pushed those memories away for so long that the slightest touch was immensely strong and overwhelming.

“My mother conditioned me,” she mumbled and went over the tale, once more, “she started when I was a child. I was bullied in school – you must understand, I never realized that was what it was, I thought it was normal. It was part of what my day was supposed to look like, but she, she took offense, she was angry-” he swallowed and looked at the teapot, “-at me. At me for not understanding – she’d hurt me, lightly, and infuse my mind with bliss. But no, it’s not what made me into what you saw with Dain. That happened later,” she swallowed and tried to breathe, which was getting difficult to just do.

Setik put down his cup and got up to stand in Elem’s back.

“You have nothing to fear from me, nor anyone,” he told softly, almost as to pass serenity to his guest. He laid his fingers on her head and found the spots that provided relaxation, massaging them gently, “The past is the past, those memories won’t hurt you, Elem,” he weaved his voice into a deep, peaceful vibration. “I hold you here in the present, where it’s safe… Please, continue. Tell me what happened later…” he closed his own eyes, as to better focus on what he was doing.

She was agitated, but the things she feared, he feared not. Hopefully, she could feel his resilience and ease up.

“Puberty,” Elem took a deep breath and tried to relax into the touch and the fumes from the tea, “It’s during puberty that Betazoids develop their empathic and telepathic abilities. It was... an unwelcome experience for me, overwhelming and frightening. I suffered breakdowns. She decided to take me to Ferenginar – Betazoids can’t sense Ferengi minds and thoughts,” he clarified and took another deep breath – “and there, she decided to train me. I- I don’t know how she obtained them. She began with animals, in his cellar. She’d inflict pain on them while I was unable to lock out the sensations – she skinned them alive, tore them apart limb by limb – all while flooding me in bliss, euphoria. An overlay of absolute pleasure,” Elem’s voice was getting brittle. “Eventually we moved over to humanoids. The first one, a human, she had me do whatever I wanted to him – I- I was a monster – I don’t want to do this,” he stiffened against the backrest and fought the nausea, “I don’t want to remember.”

Setik produced a soft hissing sound as to gently shush Elem, all while massaging her head, focusing on the calm he dwelled in.

“It’s alright… It’s alright,” he cooed. “Come back to the present, you’re safe here with me...”

He kept on hissing, almost like a slithering melody, until the tension decreased.

“You have been on the station now-called Deep Space Nine, Elem. You have met with a Cardassian tailor called Garak. I heard he was sick… You were there… Do you know what was happening to him?” he asked.

“He was dying, he was in extreme pain – headaches,” Elem specified and exhaled a breath he’d contained for too long. “I got sedatives for him, from Quark’s. Triptacederine. A  _ lot _ of it. Enough that he might use the drug to kill himself,” he closed his eyes. “No, I don’t know what was wrong with him. I didn’t ask.”

“It is probably better this way,” Setik nodded and returned to his chair where he indulged in a sip of tea. “I have another painful question,” he warned. “Did Maniel reveal anything to you before he died?”

Elem stared at Setik in shock, choking on his own breath while tears started to rise in his eyes. It took only a split second to remember the short conversation they’d had, how it had felt. How Melekor had laid next to Maniel, losing him forever as they fell asleep.

Silently, she shook her head and looked down at the edge of the table, vaguely outlined by the subtle lights. It didn’t matter that she wanted to simply say  _ no  _ – the word disobeyed her and wouldn’t leave her lips. Setik gave her a sorry smile and dragged the platter a little closer, as an invitation to take a candy.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you those questions so early…” he told. “Have you already taken your drug today? Your abilities are dampened currently, aren’t they?”

Elem finally reached out to take both one of the candies – a golden colored one – and the cup of tea, holding the cup in her lap while suckling a bit on the sweet, and Setik returned to sit in front of her.

“I ran out of phelenaxinide during the Maquis attack,” Elem said, “The new drug I have lasts for about three days, and it’s currently active,” she cleared her throat a little. “I understand if you want to get rid of me, considering the nature of what I am. I tortured three innocents to death, and I enjoyed every second of it – I was barely fourteen, imagine what I’d be capable of now…! I’m dangerous,” she smiled despite the pain clawing inside of her chest. “I killed them for absolutely no reason. Their deaths didn’t serve any higher purpose –” the man in front of her had gotten blurry and she had to blink away tears from her eyes – “If you choose to make me disappear, I forgive you.”

“You are asking for mercy, for release,” Setik kept on smiling, fingers laced around his cup, and inhaled the herbal fragrance of his brew. “You have a death wish but I won’t grant it, however convenient it would be that  _ we _ would be the ones to do so. Your family couldn’t be angry at you for taking your own life, you wouldn’t be a blatant criminal for doing so and for robbing Cardassia of your future children ...and your very unique potential,” he purred. “Until further notice, Elem Kel, you are  _ protected _ . You are wanted, needed, and if you  _ do _ cooperate well with us, I suppose we  _ might _ arrange special dispositions for you in the future ...maybe a derogative allowance to work aboard ships, as an engineer…” he suggested discreetly, waiting to see her reaction.

She was clearly understanding what a close watch had been paid to her conversation with Dain during the night.

A ruffling sound came from the corner where the tiger had been sleeping as the young animal awoke from slumber, starting to yawn and stretch. It looked at Setik and approached, swiftly bouncing onto his lap – the agent just had the time to put his cup back on the table. It wasn’t exactly the best timing for having this creature circling and sitting there, but at last, the cub did sit. It sniffed the tea and the candies but wasn’t interested in them. However, it was curious toward Elem, reaching over the desk a bit to try and sniff her.

“What is it you want me to do?” she finally asked, distractedly looking at the tiger, then up at the Cardassian.

“Oh, there are a number of things we have in mind for you, but you wouldn’t want me to spoil the surprise,” he grinned. “I would like you to tell me a little more about Timun Lykes. You had an opportunity to kill him on that ship… Why did you stun him instead?”

Elem made a wry expression at the mention of Lykes.

“Because Garak asked me not to kill him,” he commented and took a sip from his tea. “It is true that my longest lasting friend is going to marry him, and that perhaps I could have spared him for her sake, but the truth is, he loves me more than he loves her, and she deserves better – but. Garak asked me not to kill him, so I didn’t.”

“How incidental is it that he asked me just the same thing…?” Setik tapped his chin with a finger, squinting slightly. “Did Garak give you a reason  _ why _ not to kill Lykes?”

“Not exactly, it was a vague request. I believe he simply thought that considering my tendency to end up in medical conditions, keeping a doctor around and  _ alive _ would be constructive, but that’s what he said to convince me, not the actual reason,” Elem shrugged a bit and sipped from the cup. “I stunned him because then at least I got to see that look of shock and horror in his eyes.”

“Not smart but probably pleasant…” Setik acknowledged and drank a bit of tea before burying his fingers in the shimmering pelt of the tiger. “If I gave you the chance to assist us in interrogating Lykes, would you appreciate to make him suffer a bit?” he asked. “Although, I suppose we’ll have to wait that your drug no longer dampens your abilities.”

“You have him here?” Elem breathed with a bit of surprise, then swallowed twice – how many days had they kept him, then? “I’d kill him, if you let me,” she added rather roughly.

“That, however, I cannot grant you,” the agent cut off. “He is to serve Cardassia until he dies, and we hope he’ll have a long, long life… But be ensured that he probably won’t enjoy it so much,” he sighed. “We have many uses for aliens… we’re still disputing what  _ exactly _ should be done with him. He’s such a… fascinating creature, and rather entertaining,” he spoke with a vicious glimmer in the eye. “When will you be ready to torture him?”

“Day after tomorrow, probably somewhere around afternoon,” Elem calculated while sipping the tea and glancing at the tiger.

He somehow hadn’t expected the Order to keep pets, but at the same time, he expected this baby would grow up to be rather intimidating, and Nall had already explained to him how animals larger than people didn’t really exist outside of Cardassian zoos – that didn’t mean the wildlife was harmless, he’d pointed out, simply that it was smaller and more insidious.

“Are you going to detain me here until then, or am I allowed to go home?”

“I believe we have more uses for you here,” Setik slapped the tiger’s rump to force it to jump off him so he could get up.

Whatever those uses were, Elem had a distinctly  _ bad _ feeling about it, but mimicked him compliantly nevertheless. The agent refilled the animal’s bowl of water and glanced at Elem, as to deny having any affection for the furry creature.

“Come, let’s go,” he opened the door and led Elem through some corridors, to another room filled with a number of medical devices.

A woman was there too, dressed in a white medical apparel. She turned her attention to the newcomers as they entered, revealing a non-Cardassian physique, and to be younger than her white hair first led to believe. The Order had use for aliens, and that one was a telepath. With Elem’s permission – nevermind that the consent was dubious – she explored the Cardassian-Betazoid’s mind for repressed memories.

For a while, she simply studied the architecture, the way Cardassian and Betazoid mental structures had entwined. The damage caused by the drug. The layers of protection that were regularly impressed and enforced. And then she sunked further, to where memories were suppressed. And past them, searching for the missing. The memory engrams were still there, but the neural pathways had been about destroyed – only the regenerative capabilities of the Betazoid brain had maintained a thin thread that could possibly be regrown. A resurgence could have been stimulated, but it wasn’t what the woman had been tasked with. Instead, she just copied the engrams for herself without revealing them to their owner. It always felt wrong, but methods weren’t to be questioned in the light of efficiency.

At last, she retreated. She got up calmly and opened the medical fridge, picking a platter of shrimp bread rolls from it – Setik made bit of a face.

“I’m hungry,” she commented. “And I thought you would be hungry too,” she offered the other two to get food.

Setik gave it a dubious look but picked one of the rolls before debriefing with his alien assistant.

At last, Elem was let to know a part of the findings. And what stumping findings those were. They did involve Crell Moset, but not in any way Elem had imagined – but it all made a lot more sense.

Now that she knew the truth, she realized that it seemed a bit ridiculous that a  _ Vulcan _ doctor would’ve been able to put together a drug for a half-Cardassian child on such a short notice. Crell Moset was the genius behind the phelenaxinide, a drug with a typically Cardassian risk margin.

Although the alien didn’t say anything about that, Elem was about certain his mother must have blackmailed Moset into working for her somehow, just like she’d forced him to erase her child memory of their encounter because teenage Melekor had been so enthused to meet a real Cardassian. What if he’d wanted to meet more of them? No, Ywanna couldn’t allow that,  _ of course _ .

What this all meant was that Crell Moset was the first Cardassian he’d ever met, and that those memories had been stolen from him, by his mother.

“Can I have them back?” he asked finally, “My memories. Could you restore them?”

“I can restore them, yes. Whether I’m allowed to do it or not…” she glanced back at Setik and started to eat her bread roll. The agent heaved a sigh.

“It’s too early to tell. I have to refer to my superiors first,”

_ “He hates those situations,” _ the telepath gossiped to Elem.  _ “He knows that Doctor Moset could restore your memories anyway, but the decision is not for him to make.” _

Elem nodded a bit and continued eating.

Setik let her finish the meager meal while going around the room to collect a vial and a hypospray. He didn’t ask for a permission to deliver a shot to Elem, putting her to sleep at once. She’d wake up, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	9. I - Clashes

#  Clashes

Elem had been gone for hours now, and there was no indication as to when she would return. Tilayan felt that it was her duty to make sure nobody worried, and went as far as to ask Nall to tell her more about his work and the duties of Archons. She wasn’t entirely enthused by the topic, even if she’d found the Archons she’d met to be quite admirable women whom she could certainly respect. But she also understood very well that if her father were to decide that she should follow this career, she would have to. And excel at it too.

In the middle of such a discussion, the console chimed in the living room, requiring the old Conservator to pick up the call. It was encrypted, coming with a key to secure the channel on both sides. Nall tried to gussy himself up a bit before picking the call – though he still looked rather pale and tired, as was usual for his bony self these days.

The other recipient  of the call was none but Gul Dukat, and the former Prefect of Terok Nor had a tense smile on his lips and an accusative glimmer in the eyes.

“Gul Dukat,” Nall’s eyes widened in surprise, “to what do I owe this pleasure? Oh,” he realized, “it’s what that ill-begotten son of mine did, isn’t it? I  _ told _ him not to waste his time by contacting you, that  _ I _ don’t want any conflicts whatsoever; I’m  _ so sorry _ , whatever he’s said, rest assured I’ll deal with it.”

Dukat took an inspiration, smirking with fake amusement.

“He  _ hasn’t _ contacted me,” he corrected. “And  _ neither have you _ ,” he accused. “Someone else did, but before I make up my mind, I want to know exactly what that nosey son of yours has found. I want all the data, I want to know where it came from and how he found it. And without delay,  _ please _ ,” he stared at Nall’s image with raw anger.

Nall paled a bit and gulped, then cleared his throat.

“I’ll have to contact him – I’m terribly sorry, Gul Dukat, it’s uh... it’s been an  _ Order _ day for me,” he implied with a slight panic unveiling itself. Had the  _ Obsidian Order _ contacted Dukat? “I never bothered to look at his data myself, because as far as I’m concerned, it was never supposed to be found in the first place. B-but I’ll have to close this comlink to contact my son. I’ll get back to you soon,” he promised and smacked the button to close the transmission like one would squash a fly.

Then, he tried to contact Glain over his PADD comlink. Five times. The suspicion rose in him that the Order might have taken him  _ too _ , which was most untimely of them. Not that it was  _ ever _ welcome. So instead, he went over to Keelani, who was in her kitchen, preparing pudding.

“Glain isn’t returning my calls, and  _ Gul Dukat _ , and  _ the data _ – and he’s angry! And the  _ Obsidian Order _ and then  _ Elem  _ **_and_ ** _ Glain _ , and I’m old!” he burst out and started crying before sitting into a chair with undignified sounds escaping him.

All Keelani could do was to stare at him in disbelief. He’d finally cracked. Instead, the sounds drew Iltarel out of his room and he too stared at Nall. The only words he’d understood were  _ Obsidian Order _ ,  _ Elem _ ,  _ Glain  _ and  _ old _ .

“What happened?” he came over, worry washing over his face. “Did the Order take Glain? And Elem?” glancing between Nall and Keelani. “They’re coming back, aren’t they? What’s going on? Can I help?” he asked with a dry voice.

Upon realizing Iltarel was there, Nall quickly mopped his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt and tried to appear normal, something which was rather hard for a man with bloodshot eyes and a broken voice.

“Gul Dukat just called me. He wants the data and the details about the data, what Glain found, but  _ Glain _ isn’t answering my calls. I think the Order must have taken him. They took Elem to.”

Then he started crying too, bemoaning how he’d have no children left at all if it continued like this. Iltarel rubbed the old man’s back a little, trying to comfort him, however awkward that was.

“The data… Well, I suppose  _ I _ can load all that on the computer to send it to Gul Dukat as he requests. There’s probably no need to anger him, but ...you’re going to have to negotiate with him,” he bit his lips. The timing was really bad. “Do you have any idea of the reason why Glain and Elem were…?”

“Ywanna Kel,” Keelani answered calmly as she continued whipping the sauce for the pudding, “I think they’ve realized she was connected to the disappearance of young women back when she stayed here, and now that Elem is here... who is to say women haven’t started disappearing again.”

Nall stared at her with scandalized offense.

“Old women’s gossip and lies,” he burst at her and then lifted a finger to stab in her direction, “You didn’t say this to the Order, did you?”

“Are you asking me if I conceal things from the Obsidian Order? You may as well ask me if I’m an idiot,” Keelani answered with annoyance. “Besides, the man was really handsome and polite. He flirted with me.”

“To get you to speak,” Nall pointed out.

“No, he flirted with me  _ after _ the interview was over. Maybe I should take him up on it; he was really rather cultivated.”

“Cultivated?!” Nall burst out, then groaned in frustration. “Now isn’t the time, Keelani! Iltarel – I’m sorry – c-could you help me? I don’t know what the data even contains.”

Iltarel nodded, helping him to get up.

“I’ll get Glain’s PADDs and the rods. We can do this in your house,” he went to the bedroom and grabbed the bag in which his friend stored his precious material.

He started to explain more as they made their way back to the other house: “Glain found data incriminating Gul Enker Reyal for war crimes that should have gotten him demoted back when he was stationed on Bajor. He slaughtered Bajoran children – which were considered as a  _ resource _ , as you know – and had their tortured remains exposed to the sight of their relatives. As a consequence, a lot of Bajorans joined the ‘Resistance’ and terrorism vastly increased, causing the unnecessary death of Cardassian officers and civilians and their families. This terrible mishandling of Bajoran resources had consequences for many years… and I believe there’s more, but I didn’t get to that part yet.”

“We should have never occupied Bajor in the first place,” Nall shared his personal opinion, which, by pure coincidence, was also the public opinion ever since the Detapa council had managed to coerce the Central Command into ordering the Withdrawal, “so many lives lost... sure, that planet had a lot of resources. Lucrative. But the cost in Cardassian lives  _ barely _ made up for the profit. Keeping away would have been plus minus zero – not that I’m going to say that to Gul Dukat. That man lives in the past…”

“I think it was a good idea,” Iltarel shared  _ his _ opinion as they entered. “But it should have been conveyed more smoothly. And what an idea to send mostly inexperienced youth over there… Reyal was practically a child when he first got there, and they made him a  _ Gul _ an unlawfully young age. Now  _ that _ is the core of the problem. Lack of order, lack of structure, too much resistance from the working force…” he shook his head. “But I agree. The cost in Cardassian lives wasn’t worth it, and persons like Reyal only made it worse. I believe Glain planned on pinning Cardassian deaths on his actions.”

Nall harrumphed as they entered his study, where Iltarel got to work.

“A little more idiots like Reyal and Darhe’el and we would have ended up at war with the Federation. Many more lives would’ve been lost, not to mention resources – ships, weapons, maybe even territory. And prestige. Our reputation is our best defense yet. Maintaining it is top priority.”

“On this I agree,” Iltarel smiled fondly. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to work on right now…”

He added more rods in the hubs so Nall could understand how huge an amount of data Glain had retrieved.

“Your son, Your Rokat, is brilliant… Far too brilliant. Would you look at that… On a large screen, it’s even more impressive,” he admired as tabs kept on adding up, automatically sorted by algorithms. Statistics appeared and turned into graphs, photos, videos and audio recordings were listed, outlined, highlighted, annotated, turned into timelines… “He’s been working fast…”

“Yes,” Nall murmured with affection, “He’s really very talented. It’s such a shame he’s wasting his life away as an archivist – he could do so much more, if only he  _ tried _ . Ah, well...” he looked everything over, humming sometimes, snorting at other times, “This is a mess. At the very least, if angled correctly, it reflects well on Dukat and bad on Reyal. They are opposite players in this game of kotra. The question is whether they truly realize that, now.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Iltarel answered in honesty. “But I could trust a kotra master as yourself to arrange the facts in a favorable light and providential perspective ...Our Conservator,” he smiled with a slight flush of admiration, as an invitation for the old man to put his talents to practice.

Nall nodded a bit.

“Say, would you like to watch the call?” he figured to ask.

“It would be an honor,” Iltarel’s neck flushed a bit in places.

He got up at once to go sit out of the camera’s angle, calm and silent. Nall threw a quick glance at his reflection in the black monitor, figured he looked fine enough, and then sat, swiveling the chair in the direction of the interface. Then, he initiated the call, and immediately, once it was picked up, started speaking.

“I can see why you’d want the data; your position is really much stronger than his. What, with this material, you really must be looking to have him destroyed,” he said it with a not-so-slight degree of appreciation and surprise, “– not that I would have any qualms with that, as you well know.”

Dukat tightened his lips to a slight pout at that, straightening up in his seat.

“That’s an interesting statement,” he commented. “Would you care to elaborate  _ while you send the data _ ?” he asked, curious to know what stance the Conservator might be holding in the investigation.

“I would’ve thought it’d be obvious, Gul Dukat,” Nall answered simply, “I’ll have to transmit to you in batches; my son brought half the database with him – I’ll start with the one containing the list of Cardassian civilians and officers killed in the many terrorist attacks prompted by formerly-Gul Reyal’s poor decisions. I think you’ll find the numbers as horrifying as I do,” he compiled that part of the data and sent it along – it’d take quite a while – “The question is what you want to receive next: the recordings of your own response, or the proof that Gul Reyal didn’t listen to you when he should have? Really, he should have listened to you – all those terrorist attacks wouldn’t have happened if he had only done as he was told. It  _ is  _ about time that he stands trial for what he did – not just to Cardassia, but to you, his superior.”

“Of course…” Dukat reckoned with little enthusiasm. “It  _ is  _ quite dramatic that such actions have gone unpunished for so long. These were hard times, and we might have lacked the distance which time now provides us with, to evidence those patterns of cause and consequences. Since the Withdrawal, reopening those wounds is painful to all of us, but you are right… Now that your son has so ...cleverly… evidenced all of this, the crime cannot go unpunished.” He silenced for a moment, just looking at Nall with the piercing eyes of a calculating officer. “I’ll be interested to receive the proof that my orders weren’t followed. If you could erase the rest, I would appreciate, least the investigation might be more complicated. Needlessly so.”

Nall fished up his best and sweetest smile and initiated the transfer.

“You do have an evolved sense of efficiency and empathy, Your Dukat,” Nall appreciated and leaned back in his chair to tap the single button it took to wipe the other data, at least from the screens of those PADDs. “I believe you cared a great deal for the Bajorans, didn’t you? I harbour nothing but admiration for you,” he comforted the man, “Those files clearly show you did  _ all _ you could. It’s to be commended.”

Dukat relaxed a bit, at least in appearance.

“That is true. We took control of their lives, we took responsibility away from them so they could enjoy themselves through rewarding hard work… They misunderstood it as tyranny, even though all we ever did was to care for them,” he sighed. “If not for the actions of insensitive persons like Reyal, the Bajor colony would certainly have been… more peaceful and more successful,” he nodded with a tint of regret. “They were like small children, innocent and mindless,” he stared more intensely at Nall, at the soreness the tip of his eyes still bore. “Sometimes we care for them but they still misbehave and take inconsiderate risks… but I suppose we have to forgive them…” he pinched his lips.

“Now, that is a sentiment I can relate to,” Nall said with a bittersweet chuckle, then shook his head. “Ah, I believe the transfer is just about done. I’ll let you get on with your day,” he waited to hear if the other had something to add.

Dukat observed the data with a little smile, unaware of the small figure creeping in his back.

“Ah, yes, that seems very good,” he reckoned. “Thank you very much-” he interrupted himself as he realized the ten-year old’s presence by his side. “ _ What _ are you doing here?” he stared at his son with disbelief and offense.

“It’s the real Conservator Nall Rokat?” the child stared at the screen with amazement.

“Yes,” Dukat answered shortly, gathering his patience to appear as a good father.

He took his young on his lap, considering he might as well introduce the culprit.

“My son, Mekor,” he explained. “And Mekor, what do you say now?”

“It’s an honor to talk to you, Our Conservator,” the boy chimed eagerly and Nall’s expression softened into a cooing  _ aww _ as he returned the greeting. Skrain Dukat pressed his son some more with a “ _ And… _ ” so he continued with a courteous bow, “I apologize for interrupting your conversation with my father.”

“Better. I suppose I’ll let you go on with your day as well while I… further the education of this one,” Skrain Dukat paid his son a tight half-amused, half-embarrassed smile – the boy grinned at his father and at Nall, clearly quite excited.

The Conservator looked at Skrain with a more happy and less depressive expression: “He  _ does _ look a lot like his father; it’s the same nose – they are so adorable when they are this age, I remember when Glain – no, I shouldn’t tell that story, he’ll be embarrassed and never forgive me,” he chuckled a little. “Anyway, have a good day, Dukat.”

He bowed to the both of them before ending the transmission and exhaled slowly.

Then he thought of Glain, and started crying again, ugly sobs punctuating the air. Iltarel, who had been most delighted by the show, found himself quite dumbfounded as Nall broke down again.

“You- Your Rokat,” he blurted before getting up to come over the old man, trying to offer him comfort while glancing around for a tissue – one hand on Nall’s knee, the other pulling drawers until he managed to find a handkerchief and offered it to his host. “It’s going to be fine, you did  _ great _ ,” he tried to reassure him. “I would believe Dukat will back us well enough that Reyal’s demise is about given already…”

Nall buried himself in the tissue, blew his nose and then sniffled, shaking his head as he patted himself around the eyes with the non-snotty end of the fabric.

“Iltarel...” he snarked at him in a half-squished, half-annoyed voice, “the Order still has Glain. And Elem. I want Glain to come home,” his voice wobbled a bit, then fell entirely as he gave into another series of sobs.

The albino pinched his lips a bit, some purple coming to his cheeks and neck.

“I know… I want the same,” he said with a squeakier voice. “Surely he’ll come back soon. If it’s about Elem’s mother… I’m not sure what he could possibly know about her that would be of interest to the Order,” he murmured.

Unless. Unless they took him only to ensure Elem would speak. He didn’t want to think of this eventuality.

“It’s going to be fine… They haven’t hurt you nor Keelani… They probably won’t hurt him either…” He didn’t make prognostics about Elem however.

Nall nodded a bit, and then suddenly got his lap occupied by Kilem, who had snuck in and was now holding him and nestling his face into the curl of his neck. He remembered when Glain used to do that, which caused him to break down  _ again _ , all while clinging to Kilem.

“Pudding, anyone?” asked Keelani as she popped into the room with her oven-mittens curled around a ceramic bowl.

When she spotted the miserable excuse for a man that Nall was, she shook her head to herself and went to the kitchen, where she put the form and started to set the table.

“Don’t cry too much, you’ll get dehydrated,” she scolded him through the distance.

Iltarel somehow dragged the old man to the kitchen where Tilayan had been brewing what she’d spotted as possibly Nall’s favorite tea. She was a bit anxious but offered a nice face, as much as possible.

It was going to be a difficult evening until Elem and Glain would come back. Surely, they would be back soon? Pudding followed, as well as idle chit-chat, where everyone pretended that things were fine, even though they really weren’t.

At last, Nall retired to his room due to feeling restless and empty, seeking refuge with his wife, whom he found sitting on the floor in front of a jumbled mess of textiles. She told him she could see the flowers there, and it took him a good half an hour to convince her to come to bed so they could sleep. There, he did everything  _ but _ sleep, and when morning came, he couldn’t be bothered to get up, and stayed there even as Keelani entered to feed Liyara her breakfast.

##  * * *

Time had passed and Glain woke up in his bed. He’d been sleeping entirely clothed, above the bedsheets, and it took him a moment to remember what had happened.

Slightly disoriented, he tried to get up, discovering too late that he wasn’t actually in his bed, but in the top bunk at Keelani’s, and he collapsed on the floor with  a flat smacking sound and a “ _ ow _ ” wrought in more exhaustion and confusion than pain. Past the initial shock, the pain started to diffuse in his elbow and hip, and he let more of a pitiful whining, and some more as Iltarel switched on the lights.

“Glain!” he dove on his friend at once. “It’s you, it’s really you?”

“I must have broken my hip, it hurts…” the young man whimpered.

“Ha, it’s really you!” Iltarel grabbed his bathrobe and put it on before carrying his friend to the living room, calling Keelani at the same time, “Keelani! Keelani! Glain is back!” he shouted with emotion.

The archivist let out sounds of protest at how he was being handled but drowsily dwelled in the comfort of those strong arms, clinging to them once laid on the couch. It felt good to be back home.

“Your father was  _ so _ worried for you,” Iltarel fondly caressed his friend’s dark hair and kneeled by the couch to hug him. Because  _ he _ , clearly, hadn’t be worried in the least.

Glain smiled at the notion.

“It was fine… The… He just had some questions, paid me some food in a nice teahouse… Then I must have been kept asleep, I’m not sure how long, some hours maybe,” he glanced at the darkness outside the window.

“You’ve been missing for three days, Glain.”

“Three days!?” he blinked. “That explains why I’m so tired and hungry then…”

At that, Keelani emerged from the kitchen, oven mitts on her hands and a scrap of fabric tied around her hair.

“You’d better get some distance between each other before Nall learns you’re back,” she advised as she saw the two of them snuggling in the couch.

Iltarel took a distance at once, flushing in embarrassment.

“I’m making dough-swirls,” she added and threw a scolding look at Glain. “You couldn’t have waited another five minutes to reappear, could you? Anyway, Iltarel, could you please make the call to tell Nall? – I’m  _ busy _ ,” she re-attended her cooking while muttering to herself about  _ children _ .

Glain just blinked at the shape of the housekeeper vanishing back in the kitchen.

“Baking? In the middle of the night?”

“It’s almost five in the morning, Glain,” Iltarel corrected. “And it takes time to bake, it’s the proper time if you want to have the pastries fresh for the morning. Pitir-”

“-Yes, I know, your little brother is a baker,” Glain cut off, sniffing the air. His stomach echoed in approbation. “It  _ does _ smell good…”

“Is your hip still broken or do you think we can go tell Nall and see if Elem is back too, rather than wake him up with a chime?” Iltarel asked.

“They took Elem too?” Glain got up, then looked at himself. “Ah, maybe my hip wasn’t broken after all…” he commented in parenthesis.

Iltarel snickered and dragged him along, feeling too relieved to hold his usual composure.

“Nall was expecting the children to disappear at any time. Dain passed by, to ask about you and Elem – I made up some excuse that the two of you got sick over eating some Bajoran candies you brought from Terok Nor; he didn’t question it.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

The clerk wondered a moment whether he should mention Dukat and Reyal yet, and the investigation that had started, but figured it could wait until breakfast at least. They went to Elem’s room first and caught glimpse of her sleeping on her bed, still dressed and above the sheets like Glain had found himself. Nodding to themselves, they opted to let her sleep and went to Nall instead. Iltarel favored to wait in the corridor, not to intrude in the sleeping couple’s privacy.

Silently, Glain made his way to Nall’s side of the bed and sat by him. His father looked so small and vulnerable like this. He was tired and worry tensed his face. Hopefully, waking him now would grant him better rest afterwards, and so his son gently caressed his hair to bring him back to the woken world with gentle word of his and Elem’s return.

The man jolted out of sleep in a series of poorly connected words. Then, he saw his son’s face and his eyes welled up with tears. He tried to tell him his own version of the story and the conversation quickly ended up cycling as they both went on about the same things over and over like emotional puppets set on repeat and crying happy tears of togetherness. The affectionate display eventually awoke Liyara, who was confused and concerned. She too deserved some reassurement.

Eventually Nall moved out of bed to get dressed, and looked around and smiled.

“My beautiful son.”

Glain blushed and giggled, too happy to control himself further. He got up and joined his father with bouncy steps.

“You made me beautiful, father,” he set his hands on the old man’s hips and grinned. “The both of you…”  he paid credit to his mother too, glancing back at her. Then hugged his father again, indulging in this moment. “I love you so much, father… I want to make you proud, happy, serene… I don’t want to disappoint you ever again,” he clung to him and raised watery green eyes up at him. “The price is too high… I  _ need _ to see you happy. I hope those past days weren’t too hard on you.”

Nall wanted to allow himself some more moments of joy and relaxation, but instead he detangled himself from Glain and moved to pull on a shirt.

“Gul Dukat called,” it was time to tell of it, “about the data you collected. I managed to give him what  _ he wanted _ and what  _ I _ wanted at the same time, I think, but Glain, next time you pick an enemy, perhaps care to not make it one of the most prominent and infamous guls we have?”

The young man paled at once.

“ _ He _ called? Ow, father…” he apologized, feeling like he’d disappointed him again and apologized some more as he followed him out of the bedroom.

Iltarel was still in the corridor, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and smiling.

“Your father was so eloquent during that call…” he had to share his absolute admiration.

Nall’s heart skipped a beat and he sent Iltarel a betrayed glare.

“What are you stalking in the darkness for?” he rubbed his chest a little, and led the way to Elem’s room, where he stood in the doorway for a moment.

She really was back.

“If you were asleep, she most likely weren’t,” he reckoned in another frequency of misery. “There’s no harm in letting her have her dreams...” he turned to Glain and to Iltarel, then led the way to the kitchen, where he turned on the light and served himself a cup of water.

“It’s because of Ywanna,” Glain said. “I don’t know what she did, but she managed to anger the Order… Still, I would think they simply had more questions for Elem – she’s her child after all, she knows her more than any one of us. If Elem is back, it means the Order was after Ywanna, not her. I’m sure we can all forget about this entire story soon and everything will be normal again,” he tried to be reassuring.

“She must have cooperated well, for them to return her,” Nall reckoned as he turned around to lean against the counter while sipping his drink. “When she wakes up,” he pointed his little finger meaningfully at Glain, “don’t ask her about it. In fact, let’s, as a family – and friends –” he gesticulated to Iltarel – “agree to just continue like nothing happened. The less we talk about it, the better, and I really  _ do _ want this to be over with.”

“That’s for the best,” Glain agreed. “Keelani is baking dough-swirls; she must have woken up quite early for this.”

“Pitir says there’s no better way to wake up but with the scent of yeast,” Iltarel chimed, starting a most mundane conversation about baking, bread and pastries, until Glain let out a dismayed sound and held his belly, quickly declaring that he was starving and about to die, with the only reasonable course of action to that being that of going to ‘help’ Keelani. He was let go and the other two set to prepare the table for an early breakfast.

 

Keelani on her behalf, was looking through the grand selection of woven baskets she had in her possession. She couldn’t entirely decide whether or not the traditional tekka basket was superior to the more creatively artistic dinkani one, and for this reason Glain’s appearance was highly helpful.

“Which one?” she asked as she got up from the cupboard, an oval basket in one hand, and a slightly rounder, flatter one in her other hand.

“That one,” Glain pointed at the dinkani basket without hesitation. “That’ll give Nall something to talk about if we were to run out of conversation topics,” he smiled. “I think it’s… amazing ,” he gave it an appreciative look. “Now how else can I help you? I’m properly starving,” he informed, in case his stomach didn’t make it clear enough. “And I feel disgusting and awful- How is my hair?” he addressed the mirror and was horrified to see what a mess was reflected in it.

“If you want a shower, take a shower,” Keelani judged him a little as she set the basket on the table and started transferring swirls into it. “So, what was it like? Did they ask any questions about missing women? Oh, was there a handsome one there? About my age, rather cultivated, impressive neck scales...”

“There was,”Glain grinned at that while heading to the bathroom, “but he was in his late thirties, I believe… He flirted with me; it was quite nice even if it was probably all a pretense to make me talk. It worked well!” he laughed before disappearing behind the door.

There was a bitter sting, still. Kylon hadn’t held his promise of telling about Enkem. Of course, Glain hadn’t expected he actually would, but hope still hurt and he saddened a little as he undressed. He passed in the shower, then let down the water to relax in the warmth. Did he really want to know about Enkem’s fate? Was he still alive? Was he still even the same person? There were so many rumors about what the Order could do to its own members… Glain closed his eyes. His lips started to move, whispers turning into words, words turning into melody, “ _...Three children go to the desert in Varnikar... _ ” went the song.

At last, he soothed himself and turned the water off, and the soundwaves on to dry himself just enough that his scales retained a pleasant moisture. He combed his hair carefully, got dressed with clean clothes, combed his hair again, oiled it with his personal mus, combed it one last time and finally went to the other house, where others had started to assemble for the breakfast.

 

The liquid Keelani set on the table to accompany the basket with the swirls, had a sort of rosy pink color which carried the faintest floral scent. Elem couldn’t place it, but it seemed familiar somehow – it wasn’t until he realized it made him think of Garak that he came to the conclusion that the tailor must have donned a perfume of the same fragrance.

“Juice of preela petals,” Keelani told her as she noticed the wondering.

Nall cooed a little – he was still a bit sniffly from his second outburst upon seeing Elem again.

“They bloom this time of the year for one week only,” he explained, enthused and porridge-voiced at the same time, “Liyara and I used to go to the tropical areas and watch the birds pollinate them – ah…” he sunk into memories while Keelani took her seat and shuffled the basket to him.

Absently, he took one with a just-as-pink filling, while Kilem, who sat next to him, boldly grabbed the first best one – with black filling.

“App-app!” Keelani fished it from him before he could take a bite, “That flavour isn’t for children,” she then handed him a pink one instead, and gave the black one to Elem, who was mystified – “Gel of black Kanar; it takes the tongue of an adult to enjoy them,” the housekeeper explained, then promptly pressed another black one on Iltarel: “Treat yourselves – oh, I see you’ve decided to join us at last,” she beamed at Glain. “I hope the shower was pleasant.”

“Very,” Glain answered and sat next to Iltarel, sniffing the swirls in enthusiasm, hesitating on which sort to pick and finally getting a black one too. “There’s nothing better than warm water to dilute worries and get back to the present,” he chimed.

“I’ve been studying the geography of the different worlds of the Union,” Tilayan said out of the blue, to make sure no unpleasant topic came instead. “It was rather interesting. It reminded me-” she interrupted herself by taking a bite from her own pastry, as she’d been about to talk of Dziana and what the little girl had learned about the geology of Bajor – she wondered how the little Vulcan girl was doing and if they could get to talk to each other on subspace sometime soon, but knew better than to mention it- “It reminded me how much I love to study,” she said instead.

“That’s very good,” Glain commented.

“Yes,” shone Nall with pride, “And you’ll have to study a lot, if you ever want to surpass me and become Archon.” He looked so happy at the prospect, that it’d make it pretty much impossible for anyone to say she’d become otherwise.

Elem poured herself some of the juice and sipped it in silence. It was as if she was in a bubble of her own, and it was obvious that both Nall and Keelani had noticed, but that neither of them wished to break through either, in fear of what she’d have to say if they did.

“Speaking of studies,” Keelani prompted the conversation to continue, “the kind man from the test commission will drop by tomorrow with his assistant. He called to let me know – who calls about such things in the middle of the night?! Microaggression, that’s what it is – at any rate, someone will come by.”

“Already?” Nall was delighted, “That means I might be able to enroll them come next month, and that’ll give us uh...” he had to count on one hand, “Until the break is over,” he settled on, because he wasn’t sure where in the year they were.

Kilem went onto asking about the test, which was to last four hours, and Tilayan stated that doing the best was the minimum one could give – and she certainly didn’t aim for the minimum. Kilem however shared his plan to purposely fail any topic that wasn’t relevant to medical studies so to be sure not to end up anywhere a militaristic score because he wasn’t a barbarian. Tilayan was offended on the behalf of her dead brother, and so was Iltarel, on behalf of… well, he chose not to expand on which member of his family were in the military and which ones had died in service or not.

“Both my brothers ended up in the military,” Nall thought this was a good moment to tell of this, “Zetik... my youngest brother, he... died in a transporter accident. For the State, as they say,” he smiled sadly, “They buried him in the same soil as anyone else who died honorably. He was a very kind man, very forgiving,” he cleared his throat. “And Enjam, he’s a Glinn. And still alive, moreover. He doesn’t visit often, he never enjoined anything but his career. He’ll probably want to come have a look at the two of you, once he learns I adopted,” Nall afforded a wry smile. “I am not sure he’ll approve very much; he’s a bit more the child of my father than he’d care to admit. Full of emotions, most of them not very pleasant – he and father never got along, ironically,” he sipped on a sigh, and then on the edge of his glass. “The army is an honorable place to be, but father viewed it differently. He thought their talents were being wasted – he never thought to be grateful that at least  _ one _ of his children inherited his title,” he said in a way that was clearly pointed in Glain’s direction.

“He didn’t think to be grateful for having a grandson who could repair PADDs either,” the young man muttered with distaste, “and then he died trying to do that himself instead of asking. I was never meant to be his legacy,” he added quickly, like the words were slippery. “He was ashamed of me, he thought that I was a girl in disguise, and told me I’d bring dishonor to the family and the profession if I ever became a public person, that the likes of me had no place in the light,” he revealed.

Nall avoided to look at Glain, which left the lingering vague impression that maybe he, in part, agreed with his father on this. Keelani wished to say things, but knew that in  _ this  _ matter, she could only do harm with her words. This silence was for Nall to break.

“It  _ would _ have been easier if you’d been a girl,” he said bitterly after letting the silence weigh on them all. “I discussed it with him at lengths – I  _ told _ him that we all explore...  _ erroneous things _ at one time or another, but that eventually you’d conform. You’d find someone to enjoin and you’d carry the family name, our family’s legacy. I always had faith in you, but you chose to bend to  _ his _ whims. You chose him over me. I understand, he was the head of family at the time. But look at us now,” he pointed, “when I’m dead, you’ll have to move to another house, and it’ll be closer to the lower levels of society. And why? Because you insist on acting like a woman – even now, you blame others for your own choices.”

Keelani let out an offended grunt, and it was lucky for all that she had her mouth full of food, or she would’ve made a very honest remark that Nall could do without.

“So Grandfather thought I was a girl,” Glain flushed, “you think I  _ should have been  _ a girl and Elem said I should maybe  _ become  _ one,” he listed. “Maybe I should, then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Glain Rokat,” Iltarel nudged him. “You’re brilliant, you understand law perfectly, you’re an excellent archivist, a competent investigator and you do like to speak… You could still become a Conservator, if only you  _ tried _ .”

“And I would  no longer get to travel anymore. What about ambassador?” Glain replied half-provocatively. Still, he considered those words. Iltarel really thought that? He observed him, as to spy on the least sign of lie.

“He’s right you know,” Nall muttered and grabbed another roll for himself, this time a blue one.

“Your Rokat, will you stop taking the children’s swirls?”

“They are mine, I do what I want,” Nall replied to his housekeeper and bit into the pastry, “and you,” he pointed at Glain once he’d swallowed, “if you truly want to become a Conservator, I know someone whom you could go alongside with. But if I set you up with that, you’d better not do what Iltarel did, or I’ll disown you out of shame.”

“I… I’ll think about it,” Glain blushed awkwardly. “I suppose that for now it might be better to focus on keeping everything alright for the tests tomorrow and for the, ah… How is it going with Reyal and Gul Dukat so far?”

“That’s what I thought,” Nall threw with a hint of sour bitterness, “you like to speak big when you’re upset, but nothing comes out of it. I have  _ all _ the resources I could ever need to help you advance to a  _ meaningful _ position, but you’re comfortable where you are, and you know I’m... I’m not a good father,” he added in a studied, passive-aggressive way. “I’m too soft. Too lenient. I take things into accord that will bring destruction to all of us, and you, you selfishly let me perish like this. This is how great families dissolve into nothing, Glain. Through people  _ like you _ .”

“And you wouldn’t be offended to see me onscreen?” Glain couldn’t help but get back at him. “You don’t think that all of Cardassia will be offended to see me, with what reputation I have? What if Melekor  _ was  _ right?” the questions were genuine.

“Since when do you care about your reputation?” Iltarel stared at him.

“I’ve  _ always _ cared,” Glain fired, then continued with displeasure, “Chief Editor Edar brought it up to me. He made insinuations. And I’m sure there will be more if I pursue a public path. And they’ll dig, they’ll get at the children, at Elem…”

“You’re just fishing for excuses,” Tilayan said before Iltarel could. “You’re insecure about yourself and how ambiguous you are, which is why you flirt so much, to be reassured that you are liked and loved despite of it, but love has to come from inside first. Stop running away like a coward. I can’t believe you even play kotra so well when you’re just hiding away from your responsibilities. You’re like a big child.”

He stared at her in complete disbelief and offense.

“She’s quite perceptive…” Iltarel nodded slowly.

“She’s…!” Glain tried to reply but couldn’t find a defense against that attack. It struck way too accurately.

Nall stared at Tilayan and couldn’t help but to find the entire situation amusing and a little bit absurd.

“I daresay she’d make a good Archon, at least,” he puffed himself up a bit – setting a challenge between siblings was a good way to ensure growth. His father had done it often, a lot of the time viciously so. That  _ two _ of his sons had gone off to join the army had been a great defeat to him already, but at least the two of them had known what they wanted.

Nall still hadn’t figured out what he’d wanted to do with his life, and sunk back in the quiet comfort that maybe, probably, he didn’t know because he was already doing it. Whether or not that was true, was less important.

“Thank you,” Tilayan appreciated the compliment. “Maybe I’ll consider studies political sciences,” she threw another jab at Glain.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d do well at that; just agree that all the budget should go to the military and you’ll go far,” her brother harrumphed.

“Maybe I think otherwise,” she puffed herself and glanced at Kilem. “Research needs budget. I’ve looked at some medical statistics, and they are quite bad. The Federation does better than us and that is not acceptable.”

That one comment did get more attention from her two brothers.

“Now that’s smarter,” Glain agreed. “But you should always beware of statistics; it takes very little to make numbers speak in ...or out of your favor. Maybe we could watch Silem Ekbar’s political analysis program together, see if you like it,” he proposed, then added with a slightly more flirtatious grin, “Now  _ that’s _ a position I believe I could excel at. If only I had an opportunity for it, I’m sure I could make a nice show out of numbers and records, and I’d love to animate debates…”

“At least you’d have a much easier time getting enjoined with all the sexual tension induced by such programs…” Iltarel snorted.

“That’s not a bad side-effect,” Glain shrugged and finished his swirl before picking another of the black ones.

“And in which way do you imagine political analysis would make you any less of a target?” Nall continued to shoot at Glain. “Oh, yes... because you don’t think you could make it there, due to a lack of contacts. So it’s entirely risk-free to fantasize about, isn’t it? But if it were to become a real option, I  _ am sure _ you’d slick your ears right back and slink off like a cowardly cat.”

“I’m willing to take the bet that  _ I _ can do it,” Glain answered to his father, “if you’d approve of such a career more than my current position,  _ of course _ .”

“By all means, go ahead,” Nall answered almost aggressively, but in a way that was equally as encouraging, “And what would you bet on?” he continued with a smirk while Keelani left the table, grabbing Iltarel and Elem along to go help her hang the laundry.

Glain kept focused on his father.

“I bet I can do it. I may not have a traditional education to get to such a position, but I can still study for the tests and pass them. I’m an archivist, I trust I can find the content of those classes, and I have more friends in more places than you think. It’ll be a child’s game.”

“Ha, fits you well!” Tilayan laughed, “I told you you are a child!”

“My-  _ Our _ father’s child,” Glain corrected her, then looked at Nall again. “If you’d be proud of me holding such a position, I can make you proud, father, because I think I can do better than most  _ because _ I won’t have a traditional path of career. Do you think I kept this position of archivist just because it was comfortable and easy to excel in? I got to see and learn so much… I acquired an  _ insight _ , and  _ that _ is more valuable than any theoretical knowledge. I can be a people person or talk to guls or Archons,” he shrugged. “Archivists do that all the time. I’m quite certain I can do just as good in a debate. Just give me a year and I will get there, three years and I will amaze you beyond expectations.”

Nall’s expression softened a little.

“I’ve never not been proud of you, Glain,” he spread honey over his words and into the warmth of his eyes, “but I have been tormented over the blatant loss of potential, the misuse of talent, the waste... years of your life spent on the intellectual equivalent of a janitor’s job.”

It was lucky for him that Keelani had left, or, he was sure, she would’ve had many opinions to share on his attitude towards the mundane.

“ _ I _ only ever wanted to see you flourish, to see you grow – in ambition, in determination. The truth is, I would never blame my father for the lack of success in you – Melekor always chose the harshest of methods to find the truth at a person’s core. He wasn’t always satisfied with what he found – my brothers brought him grief for many years – but at least he was honest. And perhaps, if you had only been a little bit more determined to follow in my footsteps, if you had been a little bit more of a  _ heir _ , you wouldn’t have let him deter you like he did. I wouldn’t entirely blame you; the fault of a child is the fault of the parents. Even my own father thought me too soft, but what else could I be? You were such a delicate child, such a silent, calm and thoughtful little boy – yes, I do not blame him for thinking of you as a girl. You very much acted like it, and I guess, with my weaknesses, I never could be much of the male figure you needed to guide you right in life – and your mother... your sweet, clever mother. But she appreciated your traits, she was so sure you’d find a wife in no time, that you’d grow up charming. And you did,” he added the last part a bit more sternly.

“That’s not pride, father,” Glain insisted. “It’s love and deception – pride doesn’t account for such disappointment,” he pointed. “But you weren’t  _ too _ soft…” he ensured very gently and with great warmth in his voice. “If it weren’t for mother’s illness, you would have kept your trust in me and seen what I was doing. You would have seen the  _ pattern _ , the  _ bigger picture _ … but with all this worry, you didn’t look at me, not in that light,” he gulped more bitterly, as it pained him to place those accusations. “You…  _ I  _ couldn’t do it in time. It took you  _ thirty eight _ years to finally become enjoined,  _ forty three _ to give your father a grandchild from your union with mother: me. I was only  _ nineteen _ when mother got sick, I was with no real status but yours – not much of a real prospect. You repeated, and still repeat so often that I’m still so young, frail, and what about my  _ scales _ ,” he didn’t expand on that one topic, “Yet you would have had me become a father while I was just a child? You know how that turned out for Maten,” he mentioned his former colleague: “he’s terrified of his own daughter and doesn’t have a clue about how to be a father, and I can understand his embarrassment. I was worried I might act with my own children more like a brother,” he glanced at Tilayan and Kilem as to argue those concerns laid on concrete grounds, “while  _ you _ , their grandfather, would turn into their father figure. Not only is that messed up, but I didn’t want you to look at them when you couldn’t look at me  _ in the first place _ .  _ I _ am  _ your _ child. I couldn’t just give up what career plan I was cunningly designing just to satisfy a hurried craving. Yes, mother wished she’d get to see and hold her grandchildren, but she wouldn’t have wanted them to be from a quickly picked wife that would end up a burden to our family and from which I would possibly end up disassociating – and you know who would keep the children then, and you wouldn’t have been so happy about it. I didn’t want you to be  _ sad _ , father. I didn’t want you to be  _ worried _ again in the future, or to have  _ regrets _ …” he softened at last, some of his own sadness sieving through his clenched teeth. “Mother degraded so fast… I thought you’d let her go sooner and realize…”

Nall let out a laughter that wasn’t really one.

“I see! So you are not old enough to enjoin and found a family, but you  _ are _ old enough to... lead a frivolous lifestyle, enter into fleeting, sexual relationships  _ with men twice your age _ ,” he huffed. “You never thought about the rest of us, did you? When you indulged in those things – none of which you truly needed to live, mind. And remember, just because Reyal failed in his pursuit of you, doesn’t mean what you did was  _ fine _ for the rest of us. Don’t you understand? If you hadn’t been so loose-footed, I would’ve never had to press this issue. It’s not  _ just _ your mother’s illness, it’s your  _ reputation _ . The only thing to stop those rumors, would be if you  _ properly _ got yourself enjoined and proved your virility  _ as a man _ . Do you think I was any bit prepared to become a father? No! No one is! When the child is born, you’ll either know how to handle the situation, or you won’t. Time doesn’t miraculously help you grow a seventh sense for fatherhood – experience is the only way to get there. Ah,” he made a disgruntled sound and refilled his glass, “I don’t know  _ what _ doesn’t terrify you, Glain. Sometimes, I think everything terrifies you – but then, you go do stupid things, like going all the way to Terok Nor and  _ Bajor _ . You’re really hopeless!”

“I’m proud of what I did, and I don’t care anymore if you aren’t!” the son shouted back at his father, neck darkened by a mix of arousal and shame – he’d craved for his attention, he’d sought for attention from other men instead, and now that his father flared at him, his body reacted in a way he hadn’t expected.  _ Still _ , he wasn’t going to let that show nor stop him from arguing back. “I went to  _ Bajor _ ,” he rose from his chair, “I found that data, I killed those despicable alien terrorists to protect my siblings, and no matter how afraid I was at times, I protected my family,” he gestured at the children and toward Elem’s empty chair, and set his hands on the table. “I’m not ashamed of anything I did, because soon Reyal will be  _ destroyed _ in a very permanent way. I, the  _ girly _ boy, will be the one to have ended the manly male who once was a gul. If I wanted to make it full cycle, I could even enjoin his daughter to keep a secure grip on that family,” he snorted. “But I don’t think that will be necessary, however amusing the irony would be…”

There was no more warmth in his eyes, only cold, green acid, corrosive and calculating, but Nall didn’t react. Glain sneered:

“I’m not so soft, and I have fared well despite my  _ reputation _ . Once Reyal is ruled out, there won’t be anything to stop me anymore, I promise you,” he stepped away from the table. “Now,  _ if you don’t mind _ , I will leave. I have business to attend to with a  _ woman _ before I go to work,” he sneered with venom and headed for the door in fast stride, leaving his father to fume at his son’s arrogance.

##  * * *

Glain knew his father had points, but so did he, and just because his father was right in several regards didn’t invalidate his own concerns. It was a complicated situation, and not one that could be approached in one single, straightforward way. Still salty and angry, the young man made his way to that  _ place _ he’d heard of. It was going to be a new experience, but he felt quite determined to prove his father and everybody else that they were wrong, that  _ he _ , Glain Rokat, was fully capable of coming out on top. He’d survived the Obsidian Order –  _ two times _ – and Reyal, and Bajor, and the Maquis… There was no stopping him.

The establishment he entered was rather alike to a cozy teahouse. There were few tables in the first room, mostly populated with women, most of them between twenty and forty something. Behind the counter were a man in his thirties and a woman in her sixties or so, joking with each other – they dropped the humor to a slightly more professional attitude, keeping a warm composure to welcome their potential customer. Glain walked to them and cleared his throat a little.

“First time, right?” the old woman instantly guessed. “Are you coming for the girls or ...maybe you’d like to see someone else?” she glanced at the male to her side. Glain shook his head.

“A woman.”

“Hm… Let’s see,” she leaned forth to look at the women right and left. “Mirayal with the red dress, she’s-”

“Quite older than me,” the young man cut off.

“But she’s very good with first timers –” Glain stiffened a bit at that.

“What about that one with the green dress?” he asked of one of the youngest ones.

She seemed to be more around his age, though she might have been younger but made to look more mature by her clothes, hairstyle, makeup and that expression she had – the sort that stated she wasn’t going to take shit from anyone. He couldn’t quite see the color of her eyes from where he stood, but he could clearly feel the sharpness of their gaze, and the temper behind. There was something almost manly about her, and she didn’t seem to have much of a cleavage either. With some chance, he could almost pretend she was a man in drag and manage to do what he had to prove himself a real male.

“She’s a real woman, right?” he asked to be sure. “Nothing that’s non-conforming?”

“All those are perfectly conforming,” the man behind the counter ensured. “Do you want to share a cup of tea with her in a small salon in the back?”

“Yes, only without the tea, I don’t have much time,” he answered hardly.

The man repressed a chuckle and gestured at the girl to come over. She strode to the desk with confidence and eyed her client over with mock hunger, her deep forest green eyes made darker by dilated pupils; she wore the look of someone who might either fuck you, or eat you alive.

“If you’ll come with me,” she purred as she grabbed a key from under the counter and went to take Glain’s arm in her own, leading him backstage. “I’ve never seen you here before – I’d remember you; you do have such fine features. You may call me Fineyal,” she smirked.

“You may call me Deneb,” he murmured with a smile, taking one of the computer-generated names he’d often given to his one-night stands. “You’re right, it’s my first time around here. Why?” he asked the question before she did, “I’m afraid I’m not here for small talk,” he whispered hotly.

He thought his act was good so far, still fueled by anger, and he drew confidence out of it.

That she was a woman shouldn’t matter, should it? When she let go off his arm to open the door, he rested his hand in the small of her back, feeling the curve just above the roundness of her ass, considering to feel more of this shape. An ass was an ass, it shouldn’t matter what the rest looked like, should it? And a hole was a hole… Surely, it wasn’t  _ so _ different.

While she still had her back turned to him, Fineyal indulged in a dismayed expression over the realization that he had to be a virgin – it always  _ was _ more difficult to deal with virgins; reality rarely matched their expectations,  _ their own endurance _ rarely matched their expectations, and usually, they had a habit of blaming it on her. She swiftly returned to a more appropriate expression as she turned and pulled him into the small room, holding both his hands.

The room, while fully possible to drink tea in, was primarily designed for one thing – sex. There was a bed there, silk hanging from the bedframe, casting a shadow that even the Obsidian Order might have difficulties piercing through entirely, and while there were security cameras to ensure everyone’s safety, as she liked to think of it, they hardly needed to see the act, only who came in, and who left.

When she languishly sat in the bed’s many pillows as a teasing offering, Glain looked at her, and licked his teeth, trying to ignore that she was a woman, but also wondering  if that kind of display was what normal men enjoyed in women. Somehow, that felt crude and wrong, and he quickly diverted his eyes to look at the room instead and avoid letting her see the dismay in his eyes and the absence of real desire.

“What can I do for you?” she asked. What could she do for him, really?

“Make me a man, Fineyal,” he said rather sharply, setting his own green eyes back on her.

He allowed himself a little smirk as he approached with some defiance. He did feel a bit sorry for her.

“You’re going to have a hard time, but you’re going to do it. And try to make me like it if you can,” he added and sat by her side, touching her neck with more softness than he’d touch a man – he knew the spots, he simply cared to be more gentle with those softer scales. “I hope I can at least make you like it too…” he breathed against her throat and brushed her scales with his lips, projecting himself back to teen years so he could pretend this delicate hide was that of a teenage friend.

Fineyal had to reassess her first impression – he was definitely too good with his hands to be a virgin, alright.

“Do you like it this way?” he asked as he traced a line from the ear to the jaw, just under the first line of. scales,  attentive to the way she reacted, “Tell me how you like it best…”

She smirked a bit, then grabbed both his wrists and wrestled him down into the swallowing softness of the bolsters, her dress hiking up to her hips as she sat across his hips, rocking back and forth over the rather absent desire there.

“You’re just a little boy yearning to become a man, aren’t you?” she murmured as she laced her lips over his, licking his skin, then moving to his neck, his ear. “You want to be taught, tutored, to find the patterns you cannot find for yourself,” she tried to see if this would trigger any sort of positive response – most people relaxed more when words were involved.

Glain closed his eyes, feeling strange. Usually, those were exactly the sort of words that turned him on, but the pitch of her voice was too high, too young, too… feminine. Still, he smiled, trying to relax and ease in, yet wondering if there was any way, any play that could make it easier on himself. This was all going to require a lot of fantasy.

He tried pretending in his mind that she was Elem, however wrong that was, and tried to be more active in the play, getting back on top. He forced a hoarser breathing and moved his body forth with restraint, as to hold onto rocking desire, though lust was none to be truly found – if he’d fake it long enough, he’d make it eventually, wouldn’t he? He wished he could get turned on at least a bit before he’d have to get out of his pants, but he wasn’t entirely sure it would happen so easily.

He closed his eyes, thinking of Elem some more, how aroused he’d been, how shamelessly he’d held his hips and stroked himself against that ass, how he’d displayed himself in dismayed provocation… Feeding on that warmth, he let go off her to take off his shirt and ordered her to help him shed his pants and treat his snake.

Surely, if her mouth was busy, he wouldn’t have to hear her voice, and surely, he could focus on the sensations, pretend she was ...someone else. Someone not a woman.

Not so surprisingly, he wasn’t very aroused once she got the pants off – she could tell that he was trying, and she did her best too, with what was there, even though it was starting to get a bit uncomfortably close to some kind of backwards rape. He wanted it but he didn’t want it, and she was feeling a bit conflicted about whether she should really do this.

When the touch didn’t come already, Glain couldn’t help but wonder if she was disgusted by this desireless client he was, and before he could stop himself, he’d looked at her, raising on his elbows.

“You’re  _ paid _ for this,” he reminded her, his voice coming out a lot weaker and vulnerable than he’d expected. Wounded almost.

Anger flared in his neck at once, but directed at himself more than her. He refused to be this weak.

“I’m sorry but I can’t just walk out of here, it’s your job, your  _ profession _ ,” he argued – great, she was going to think he was insane on top of everything else. “I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he tried to calm himself.

He felt so out of place and so in need of ...a hug or anything. This was all so ridiculous, but, “It  _ has _ to work,” he closed his eyes and massaged his temples.

Fineyal moved up to sit next to him, offering him some pillows to hide his nudity in, while she started caressing his hair and humming a little.

“Your Deneb, it isn’t my job to arouse you; it’s my job to deal with your arousal, and since it’s not there, there isn’t much I can do,” she gave a sorry expression and then leaned back into the pillows. “Care to tell me why you’re here? Perhaps there are  _ other _ ways I could help you.”

He sighed, giving her a sorry look – more sorry for her than himself still.

“My dear, I hope you can…” he shifted to get more comfortable, on his side, finding he cared very little to hide what she’d already seen. “You enjoy it with men, don’t you? Maleness…” he smirked, although a bit bitterly. “I don’t even know why,  _ how _ it so happens that I’m… not attracted to… you…  _ women _ ,” he vaguely gestured at her. “I find intelligence to be highly attractive and women tend to be quite smarter – most of my friends are women, I  _ get along _ with women easily, I  _ should _ like them ...and not just as friends…” he winced. “My grandfather constantly said I was too much like a girl, my  _ Notator _ checked me thoroughly because she was so persuaded I had to be intersexed, my own father just told me it would have been easier if only I’d actually been a woman, my sibling suggested I should maybe  _ become _ one” he told her like he barely believed his own words. “I just don’t understand… I don’t feel like a girl, I know I’m a man… I just can’t ...get aroused by ...a woman.”

He sighed.

“Don’t you have lust pills for those who need help to keep their desire bold…? Maybe I… maybe that’s what it takes for idiots in my condition…?”

“While I have those, I would admit that if I were to use them on you, I’d feel a bit like I’m violating you,” Fineyal was making a true effort not to phrase herself in an offensive manner. “I can tell that you’re not interested in me, that you don’t really want to be here, in this situation, with me, a woman. I’m not offended,” she cared to add, expanding on occurrences, at times, of clients coming with hopes to cure their absence of lust. She could give him a pill, yes, but its effects were purely mechanical on the body, and she warned that it was in no way a replacement for lust.

“We charge some extra lek for them, if you insist on trying, but you know how I feel.”

“Bring it,” Glain answered, “The only thing I can’t afford is to get out of here without getting to the end of what I can give. I need to know,” he told her, trying to be gentle. “I’m sorry it has to feel so messed up for you… but it’s not going to be a rape just because my body doesn’t feel like trying better. I’ve never been with ...a female, and ...I don’t even know what it exactly looks like or feels like. But I can’t just wait to get a wife to discover that, can I? She’d be disappointed,” he tried to jest a bit.

“Or she’ll find it romantic and admirable that you waited for her,” Fineyal wasn’t going to give him the little square pill just yet, even though she’d gotten it from the cabinet and went to sit cross-legged on the chair opposite to the bed. “Perhaps I should just show you. At least  _ that  _ way you won’t accidentally make a disgusted face in front of your future wife – yes, such things have been known to happen. I’ve had a couple of customers telling of such things – although it’s not women that they found repulsive, just the idea of sex in general. Bottom line is, it’s not an expression a wife wants to see in the face of her husband. Now, however, if it’s true that you prefer men, you probably won’t have much of a reaction at all. It’s more of an  _ un _ -reaction, really. I personally find female parts to be rather mysterious and secretive; it’s where things are hidden, pleasurable things – it’s dark, cozy, wet, and it smells good. The insides are slightly jagged – not sharp, just jagged. Some arrogant people say that the vulva and the entrance there were custom-made for penile pleasure – the truth is, the parts I possess were made first. Penises adapted, over time, to learn to take pleasure from this place, and those who took the most pleasure prevailed and had more children than others.”

While she’d been talking, she’d hiked up her skirt and parted her legs to display herself through the rather transparent underwear she was wearing – her customer might not have been aroused, but it was very clear she, at least, had been. The panties were wet, and the fabric laid slick against the soft pillow beneath, outlining the whisper of a slit and the more sensitive clitoris, which, hidden between petals of flesh, poked out just a little bit.

Quite picked by curiosity, her client got closer to observe what she had to reveal. He kneeled in front of her to look, discreetly smell and touch.

“What is it about males that you like, Deneb?” she asked. “These parts I have aren’t necessarily always connected to a woman. Would you find them attractive if they were on a man?”

“I… I don’t know, maybe?” he admitted his surprise. “I’m not repulsed… I’m ...confused?” he wasn’t even entirely sure. “Get on the bed, Fineyal, come,” he dragged her like a child eager to try something, “I want to see more of that, I want to touch,” he smiled almost innocently. “But do it first. I wouldn’t want to hurt you… Show me where it’s good, where you like it and how. Touch yourself.”

As he was getting more relaxed, Fineyal too felt a bit more at ease proceeding with the session. She sat comfortably on the bed, removed her underwear and smiled a little at her client.

“Not everyone will have the exact same look, sensitivity or preference as I do; this is something you might benefit from asking anyone you’re with,” she reminded him.

She then went on to rub the slick skin of the long feminine lips, ending up pressing them back in favour of the protruding, clitoris. It almost looked like a tiny, tiny penis, placed lower on the pelvis. She explained what kind of touch was pleasurable or unwelcome. then removed her hand entirely, parting the lips just a bit to display the purplish sensitive flesh in between, and the small hole that sat there.

“The entrance is the most sensitive part, as are the surrounding exterior – however, what you see of the clitoris on the outside, is just a small part. The rest lays in touch with the inside of me. That’s why penetration can be highly enjoyable.”

The young man blushed a bit, parted between the curiosity and this embarrassing feeling that he was intruding in a world he had no part in. She was a woman. He was a man. It felt wrong. Like he was stealing things that weren’t his, seeing things he wasn’t supposed to see, learning things he wasn’t supposed to know of.

“May I touch...?” he asked with an unusual shyness, waiting for approbation before reaching to her and feeling those strange shapes unlike anything he’d seen before.

It was soft and slick, warm and intricate, delicate... He felt like he was probably awkward with how careful and gentle he was, only realizing how much he was teasing her as the wetness increased – if moans could be faked, this probably couldn’t. He smiled in sweet pride, stroking and probing her entrance with a knuckle, to avoid any risk of scratching her with a nail.

“Are blowjobs pleasant to you? I’d like to try and retrieve usage of my hand so I can touch myself too...” he told with a bit less timidity than before.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Fineyal answered in a voice that had gotten a bit ragged, “Tell me that you consent to everything you’ll do, and I’ll let you do it,” she tried to smile in encouragement, even though the bitter truth was that her line of work wasn’t always favoured by the Order, and sex workers had been taken away for lesser things than this.

The definition of rape vastly depended on circumstance, and outspoken consent would make it much more difficult for them to pursue. Of course, Glain consented. If only Nall could see him now, he would be so ... _ so embarrassed _ , admittedly. But the point was rather that he would probably be relieved that his son could at least touch those parts, get those sounds from a woman… The young man found comfort in this idea – he’d do anything for his father and his family, he was certain of it.

As he went on exploring her with his mouth, every now and then, she gave him pointers – what to do, what not to do, new things to try, different approaches, and above all, where it was really good – while letting herself delve into the less controlled.

Eyes closed, he focused on the sensations while stroking himself, allowing himself to fantasize. He thought of Dayar, wondering if he was anything like this or vastly different. He thought of Demeny too, because why not – the man was quite attractive. In other circumstances, Glain was sure they could have had it hot together, and if he couldn’t have him in bed, he could still have him in his dirty thoughts. And why choose between the uncle and the nephew when he could have both in this daydream?

The comfort woman let herself be forgotten in near-silence, and his malehood was reacting at last. He made sure to wait to be quite hard before moving to stroke himself against her wetness, keeping his eyes closed, so not to take any risks, and carefully guided his tip inside of her.

He gasped.

His eyes opened wide and he blinked repeatedly as he slid through the cushion awaiting him – he’d not expected it to feel so good. Cozy, welcoming, dizzying too. There were ridges indeed, offering a type of stimulation he’d never felt before. It was  _ strange _ , but it was  _ good _ . Searching for air, he inhaled as deeply as he could before washing over her, hiding his face in her neck. He could barely believe he’d made it this far already. He was inside and rocking, a hand buried in her hair and clinging, the other at her neck.

Underneath, Fineyal moved along, still muffling her moans. Whatever he was imagining, it had to be really rather hot, she figured. As a habit, she let herself climax before he did – that was what men wanted, to feel capable of bringing a woman to this point, and some of them would go on endlessly if none of the sort seemed to happen. She felt herself tightening around him, squeezing and wetting them both, gasping a bit into his hair while she held onto his shoulders. The young man had an inkling of what had just happened, but he didn’t want to simply trust it, nor did he want to pay attention to any of his concerns – was he being too long? Was it going to be boring for her now? Would she fall asleep like one of his older lovers had done sometimes? He hoped not, and thankfully that didn’t happen, leaving him to imagine how Dayar would look like in her stead. How he’d moan and writhe.

In that moment, Glain liked to think the cute editor was the sort to be embarrassed by his own pleasure, to try and hide it, repress cries and screams until he’d lose control – and he would, due to being fucked by such a masterful lover.

“ _ You can’t escape your own pleasure, Dayar _ ,” Glain slipped in a groan.

At that, he lost the track of his thoughts to his own satisfaction, raising up and arching his back to make it further inside. Everything tightened again and turned extremely wet, which made it all even better.

The young man ended up shivering and gasping as he slowly awoke from one surprisingly good orgasm. He laid back over Dayar, then blinked and remembered it wasn’t him. He stiffened at once, albeit in a non-sexual way, and pinched his lips, trying to relax and keep casual as he removed himself to rest by her side instead.

“It… it was good…” he fumbled. “I hope it was ...alright ...for you.”

“You’re really rather good at this,” Fineyal answered breathily, “If you need more lessons in the future, you know where to find me,” she added with an exhausted laughter then sighed deeply and held him for a while, caressing his hair. She’d inquire about this  _ Dayar _ , but knew very well not to go delving for personal details – that was how one made sure to  _ lose _ customers. “Feeling any calmer now that you know you’re capable?” she asked with concern, smiling a bit.

“Yes, I guess… I guess so,” he smiled. “It’s actually quite… nice, in there. It’s just the ...what’s around, that…” He interrupted himself as he realized how rude that sounded. “I’m sorry, I mean no offense of course,” he laughed nervously and took a moment to look at her some more now that it was over.

“You’re actually quite beautiful,” he smiled more frankly, resting his jaw on his right fist. “I’ve rarely seen anyone with such deep green eyes. They’re like jewels,” he caressed her face a little. “How comes a nice woman like you does such a job?” he couldn’t help but ask. “I told you my story, tell me yours.”

Somehow, she hadn’t expected the question, and something guarded instantly rose in her eyes. Then she smiled pleasantly and relaxed as she went over a tale in which she was orphaned at thirteen, courtesy of Bajoran terrorists, cared for by her uncle’s family for two years, at which point she was found to be infertile and left on her own. Whether it was true or not remained a mystery for Glain.

“This place, this oasis of indecency and un-Cardassian disorder, is the only place where a woman such as myself can safely engage in what we have just done – the cameras in here are not  _ just _ those of the watchful Order. We have our own, too. The only other option for me would be to stay on the pavement, eat voles, birds and their eggs... it’s not much of a life. I’m lucky to have my looks, others are not so fortunate.”

“You know, voles aren’t bad if one knows how to prepare them ...which our housekeeper does,” Glain jested. “You don’t have any education? Nothing you’re good at? Aside from…” he looked at the bed.

A tingling laughter left her as she reached to a shelf next to the bed, and took some tissues for herself, offering her guest to take some too.

“Education costs reputation and money, and I have very little of either of them,” she sat up a little and arranged for some pillows to better support her back. “I have a lot of talents, Your Deneb. I... try not to think about it,” her smile vanished for a moment, and something of her true feelings managed to shine through the cracks before she could plaster her pleasant smile back. “I’d like to believe I fill a constructive role in society – I know, most married women wish that the State would get rid of women like me, because they worry they don’t keep a short enough leash on their men. Still, as you just learned, some men might never dare to get enjoined if they don’t garner experience in advance. And since the Order hasn’t really wiped us out, I like to think we fill a void in society that cannot be so easily dismissed – at least we work for our food, offer something there’s a need for,” she licked her lower lip, then told in confidence, “I’m pretty sure I must have slept with members of the Order. They have needs too.”

“Oh, they do,” Glain agreed knowingly, “ _ they do _ .” He took a breath, as to make sure not to indulge in those memories too long. “But you’re right, you’re necessary. And don’t lose hope,” he patted her lap and told her of Freyar who had enjoined a comfort woman who proved not so infertile in the end.

“It’s quite amazing, isn’t it?” he smiled warmly. He didn’t always care for his lovers, but this one was different. She was a woman, and Glain respected women, especially if they were nice and helpful to him.

She hummed a little, then got up and went to press a wall panel – it slid aside almost immediately revealing a small sonic shower behind. She’d grown out of such dreams. She knew far too well what dishonor she’d bring to whomever might ever want to enjoin her. She told him that as she entered the shower first. She told of the men who took comfort women as servants, only to make them disappear as soon as they found a proper woman to enjoin.

“Every morning when I wake up, I praise Cardassia, and I ask of her that she might never let me fall in love. For if I do, then that is a man I must never touch, lest I destroy us both,” she told. And Glain could sympathize.

He knew how much love could hurt. He had to ask why she didn’t try to become a housekeeper instead – not that he was trying to judge or come up with a solution.

“I don’t think you to be so stupid that you wouldn’t have examined the possibilities already, no,” he assured. He was an archivist, but he knew there were people beyond the numbers and figures; he just needed to see them to get the global picture right.

She did worry for him a little – all that was to be found in the system’s cracks were Obsidian shadow and death.

“I enjoy my work,” she told as she took her clothes and set them in the laundry while he showered himself, then went to sit on the bed again. “Ever since I started working here, I’ve been able to eat well, speak well. The people here are like family to me. My sisters and brothers. We are equals, and we can rely on each other. I wouldn’t get that if I were a housekeeper, factory worker or enlisted in the army – or, ah, I think the army would be a different kind of family. No, these are my people. My home, my family. I love them,” she smiled more softly. “Many of us even live to become old. No one dies alone, here. Above all, this is my service to Cardassia. I comfort her warriors, bring calm to her stressed out bureaucrats, educate her sexually insecure...” she smiled a more sunny smile, “and some people simply come to talk. There’s no better woman to tell your secrets to, than a pleasure woman. Our oath of secrecy is holier than that of a doctor, and we have no interest in selling anyone out. Everyone knows that. Everyone needs to talk of the unspeakable. And we listen without judgement.”

“You’re truly beautiful,” he concluded sincerely. “I wish I would have walked in less angrily. There was such a nice atmosphere before I came in… Oh, I’m sure it resumes quickly, I’m sure it’s usual, but I could have behaved better. You have such delicate shoulders and so much to support on them, yet… Tell me, what can I get you to make up for it?” he asked.

She contemplated him all while she huddled up in the pillows and drowsily put one in her lap. A caretaker type, was he?

“Pay me another visit,” she invited him suggestively, then grinned, “or if you don’t wish to, good shoes are always welcome – the kind that are made for walking and resistant to the rain. When the weather gets awful, that’s when the Notators usually want to examine us. So we have to drag ourselves across half of Cardassia – by foot – to get our medical checkup. It’s obligatory for pleasure workers,” she explained, in case he didn’t know. “Cardassia has been graceful enough to see that we’re all healthy and fit for work. We’re not allowed to be with customers if we don’t go through with the check-ups, and as we have no  _ lúrifúla _ for city shuttles, a good pair of shoes really helps.”

He gave her a pained expression of sympathy.

“I’ll see to get you some,” he decided and asked her for the size.

It was always good to mingle with those less fortunate than him, to remind himself of all he had that others didn’t.

“You’ve helped me more than you imagine,” he told as he dressed. “You did it. You made me a man,” he reached for her and helped her onto her feet. “Thank you.”

Fineyal gave his cheek a kiss before letting him go to the door.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Your Deneb,” she promised him with an eye wink, and then corrected him: “And you already were a man – you just needed a little bit of encouragement to realize. Have a good day at work!” she wished him as she looked after him – interesting young man, and quite sweet, she thought.

How fortunate that it ended much better than it had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	10. II - A dinner with Edar

  


# Part II

##    
Questions and Answers

  
  


* * *

## A dinner with Edar

Emnita Nemad was new to the service and to the city altogether, and still a bit unsteady around her new colleagues. It was only the second day, she reminded herself, and she couldn’t entirely blame anyone for not paying a lot of attention to her, considering she’d gotten someone else’s chair at the head of the Revision Committee – a chair many were hoping to sit on, and which her predecessor didn’t quit without drama. Emnita had even found that the pivot of said chair had been heated with a tetrion beam to dry the oil, causing the seat to produce a most awful sound at the least movement. That was  _ vile _ .

“May I help you?” a deep voice interrupted her as she was down on all four, trying to inject lubricant in the system – she tried to raise up at once, hitting her head on the chair as a result.

The young man who had spoken just stood there, and possibly would have paled if he hadn’t been so pale already. He looked like he’d been bleached, and she winced at him while massaging her scalp.

“I’m sorry, Magistrate Nemad,” he apologized confusedly.

“No, it’s fine…” she assured. “You wanted something…?”

“Jarad. Iltarel Jarad,” he offered his hand to help her on her feet.

She took notice of the name, waiting for the rest of the answer.

“Oh, I… I was wondering if you were having your lunch break soon. I heard you’d been alone yesterday… It’s not very courteous,” he let her know of the gossip, instantly hoping she’d excuse his intrusiveness.

“And so you figured you could propose yourself…” she observed him. “Well, that’s kind of you. I think I’ll accept.”

He formed a O with his mouth. “I… I thought I could offer to repair your chair while you were on your break.”

“Oh.”

“...But I suppose I could join you after,” he corrected the aim.

“Or maybe we could fix it together now, and then-”

“-I can’t. ...Now. I forgot my PADD in my office.”

“You need a  _ PADD _ to repair a  _ chair _ , Jarad?” she looked at him with blatant confusion. Was he making fun of her or trying to be purposely offensive?

“No, but I might need it after…” he tried to explain. “You’re not enjoined, right?”

“Indeed…” she thinned her dark eyes. He smiled, although with crispation.

“Do you watch the trials? Do you like ...Conservator Nall Rokat? He’s quite ...admirable, isn’t he?” She was starting to get increasingly more puzzled, clearly wondering if this conversation was going  _ anywhere _ , so he hurried to add, “I happen to know him-”

“-Your Jarad, if you are trying to impress me to flirt with me-” she interrupted, only to be cut off as well.

“-Oh, no, I would never!” He realized too late that,  _ that too _ was offensive. He gulped and tried to resume to a more casual attitude. “Did you know that Rokat’s son is looking to be enjoined? He’s a few years younger than you and I, but a brilliant young man-”

At this point she couldn’t help it and snorted in laughter before losing her entire composure to his mildly shocked and puzzled expression. Starting to lose her balance, she landed herself on the chair, which didn’t fail to start singing. She winced but had to wait for her laughter to recede first, which wasn’t helped by Iltarel standing there, looking at her, clueless as to what to even do. At last, she managed to get up and landed a hand on his shoulder.

“Re- Repair the chair!” she laughed again as she gave the order. “I’m taking my break now!” she almost ran away, in need of a stop by the nearest bathroom.

What had just happened, Iltarel wasn’t entirely sure. Hopefully he hadn’t ruined his entire relationship with his new superior. With a sigh, he quickly went back to his office to get his PADDs and tools, and set to his task. With the adequate material, it took a blink of an eye, and he rested himself in the chair for a moment to test the silence and reflect over his poor social skills with women.

He was about to leave when his comlink chimed. He took a look at the call and first thought it might be Glain. It was the same building, but a different person. Not  _ exactly _ the same building, actually, Iltarel realized. Oh. Now that was somewhat unexpected. Still, he had to answer. He relayed the call to the console while he was at it, and answered, offering his usual calm and neutral face to the man on screen.

“Chief Editor Demeny Edar, what owes me the honor?” he greeted him rather impassively, but smiling a little still.

“Fascinating,” Demeny started, taking a good look at the  _ albino _ , rather shameless about the special attention he was paying him – nothing unusual for Iltarel who thus didn’t react. “I hear that you are rather apt at what you do, and at any rate, it would please me greatly if you would deign to accept my invitation for dinner tonight,” Demeny smiled widely, offering the kind of expression that one would only do if one knew the other had no choice but to accept.

The young man tried not to reveal his emotions but a bit of outrage did show from the straightforwardness and nearly abusive invitation.

“How kind of you,” he answered. “May I ask for the reason why?”

Demeny smiled a bit more and sunk back in his chair, with the fingers of his right hand settling under his chin. Amusement took the better of him – he liked when men got cranky and offended over things that would make no sense to any outsider.

“You looked me up,” he appreciated graciously, “and since you looked me up, perhaps you could remember the context in which my name came to your attention? Your friend mentioned me, perhaps? Told you that I might call to invite you, and that you may under no circumstance say anything too honest about him, or show anything overly affective toward my nephew?” he chuckled and shook his head. “Your friend is very perceptive, I’d do the same, if I had any interest in getting enjoined myself, ah… Jarad,” he said the name again, this time with a little more humour, “if you decide to come, I expect you to act and speak with honesty, if not for the sake of my nephew’s future, but for the sake of  _ Cardassia _ . Certain people, such as myself, should never get enjoined, and that for a very good reason. Now, would you like to gracefully accept my invitation, or should I read something more into the relation between you and the young Rokat? Your choice.”

Iltarel kept his composure as much as possible despite the obvious blackmail.

“And when should I show up?” he asked casually. “I finish at five, but usually spend an extra hour out. I could make an exception of course,” he offered politely, taking his PADD to note the appointment.

“If you can make sure you arrive at six, I’ll make sure to be prepared to receive you then,” Demeny positively beamed. “I’m glad I didn’t have to be awful to you; I do not enjoy taking such measures in the least.” Then, he ended the call.

Iltarel stared at the black screen for a while, then just pressed a button of his PADD to finally register the event in his calendar. Sighing to himself, he sent a message to his group of friends from the sportshall to inform them he’d be skipping the evening session, then to Glain and Keelani, to inform them he was eating with his parents that night but probably wouldn’t spend the night there.

Glain replied quickly with a cryptic message: “ _ I met with a woman and became more of a man; there is hope for me yet. _ ”

Iltarel looked at it for a while, failing to compute.

“ _ What does that mean? _ ” he texted back.

“ _ Iltarel. Take your mind and throw it to the gutter. _ ”

He stared further, pupils dilating.

“ _ What. Have. You. Done? _ ” The nerve of his friend! On a second thought, he quickly added, “ _ Wait. I don’t want to know. _ ”

Eventually, he went on his break and managed to find Nemad, dreamily stirring her soup while looking through the window of the common room. Iltarel got a bowl for himself and, gathering his courage, asked her permission to sit at her table, which she granted.

“Your chair is fixed. I’m… sorry for my obnoxious words and inappropriate behavior earlier…”

She smiled, trying not to laugh again, and looked at him.

“Apology accepted.”

They talked some more, about work mostly, and some gossip too. Iltarel was still a bit tensed; a part of his mind was stuck thinking of the dinner with Demeny. The anxious thoughts followed him through the day, and as a result, he left work a bit earlier than he usually did, and hurried back to Keelani’s to get a shower and dress with clean clothes. He checked his looks a bit more than usual, and made up an excuse that he wanted to look proper  _ upon _ arriving at home. Oh, clearly she didn’t buy it, but he didn’t let her the time to inquire further. He left and made his way to the Edar house – or flat, rather – pacing his steps to arrive and chime at the door at six exactly. Cardassian punctuality.

##  * * *

Demeny lived in a small flat; it was nothing like Nall’s abode, both for practicality’s sake and for personal tastes: it had everything he needed – two combined bedrooms-with-work-spaces, one small library, a rather luxurious bathroom (it had a round hot-pool, glass windows overlooking the city, plants and a pile of natural-looking rocks for ornamentation), a tucked away kitchen, and an entryway, which led to the common room, where the viewscreen towered over the table and the chairs, momentarily shut off. He’d set the table and prepared the meal himself – it was a buffet of sorts, where one could grab skewers of various meats and vegetables. Stew sat in small bowls to add to the mix, and he’d made the extra effort to light candles. It was cozy, because Demeny prefered cozy to grandeur – and besides, grandeur in such a small home would be a vain lie, anyway.

Dayar had retreated to his room after finishing his shift, assuming that Demeny had decided to invite another ‘colleague’ again. Once the door chimed, he was annoyed that his uncle didn’t go open it, and after the second chime, he sighed surly and set his PADD on the bed, and passed a mirror on his way to gussy himself up (which was useless, because he’d been laying down, and his hair was going places). As he passed a very amused Demeny, he gave him a stark look of  _ why are you not opening? _ but hurried on his way, opened the door and discovered what was behind the door.

It certainly wasn’t his uncle’s usual type. Younger.  _ Paler _ . Those eyes were a bit creepy. Dayar regained his posture and stopped himself from staring, while Iltarel too tried not to stare at what Glain had laid his interest on.

“Let him in, already,” Demeny called from somewhere behind him, and Dayar stepped aside, still not saying much of anything, instead gingerly watching the stranger as he entered.

“Ah, Jarad!” Demeny appreciated as he approached through the corridor, “How delightful. The table is this way.”

“Thank you for your invitation, Chief Editor Edar. It was a ...most interesting idea you had,” Iltarel fished for words.

Saying it was a pleasure would be a bit too dishonest. He looked around as they came in the room, wondering how much of a trap this all was.

“You’ve overdone yourself; you shouldn’t have, really…” he murmured at the sight of the buffet and  _ candles _ .

“It’s cozy, isn’t it?” Demeny gesticulated to the round table, then took a seat and invited Iltarel to do the same.

Dayar had no choice but to sit between his uncle and his guest, still wondering what was going on.

“This is Dayar Edar, my nephew,” Demeny introduced him with a pat to his shoulder – the young man sent Jarad a weary look, but still minded to smile a bit – “Dayar, this is Iltarel Jarad, a most talented clerk – he  _ also _ lives with his uncle.”

Oh, so that was what it was. Demeny had gone from trying to help him find a husband, to helping him find friends, as if he couldn’t do that himself.

“Where did you use to live, before you moved in with him?” Dayar asked, both because he wanted to give him a chance at a decent topic, and because he was slightly curious.

“With my parents of course,” Iltarel answered formally. “Along with too many siblings; more than we had room for – until my uncle took me to live with him in a flat with a woman he’d met,” he phrased the story in a politically-correct way. “I grew up there. I wasn’t really welcome to my father’s home,” he gestured at his pigmentation in general, “especially after I required to be demoted from my position as a Conservator’s assistant to that of clerk,” he smiled. “My father wasn’t too satisfied with that choice. He’s not a bad man, but he’s not very wise. I suppose that’s why uncles exist. But I’m currently staying in Paldar – Nall Rokat had the kindness to let his housekeeper offer me to stay at her place for a while,” he ended, glancing discreetly at Dayar to observe his reaction. “I hope this satisfied your curiosity?”

Dayar nodded thoughtfully, finally figuring what was really going on.

“So, you are a friend of my colleague at work, Archivist Glain Rokat?” Dayar took the conversation sleekly. “I hear he has issues finding someone to enjoin,” he cut the chase in a way that visibly upset Demeny. “Has he found anyone yet?” he asked even more dangerously.

“Please, serve yourself some food!” Demeny interrupted and gesticulated to all the plates.

Dayar appeased him by taking a skewer, but he wasn’t eating yet, just staring at Iltarel who observed him back while serving himself.

“He only started to search actively a few days ago; that’s a bit short to find love,” he answered. “If I should be honest,” he looked back at Demeny, “getting enjoined at such a young age wasn’t exactly his plan,  _ but _ his father decided otherwise. I believe Glain was hoping to dedicate himself to his career some more, but he’s adaptable and absolutely brilliant – I know, because we’ve worked together a number of times. I’m certain he’ll make a gentle father and pleasant husband once he finds a person he can grow feelings for,” he nodded and finally took a bit of meat from his skewer.

Spicy enough to bring a light flush to his cheeks and forehead, but not enough to cause any sort of choking.

“Tasty,” he commented and Demeny hummed a bit.

“And what of you, Jarad?” Dayar asked, hijacking the conversation  _ again _ , “You’re closer to the age where it might be reasonable to go looking. Are the two of you perhaps seeking together?”

“Together, certainly not,” Iltarel could now have choked on such an idea. “I am seeking in a more patient way. There is no hurry. I’m male after all…” he shrugged a bit. “It has to have  _ some _ sort of advantage at some point.”

Dayar opened his mouth to hurl something back, but then silently continued to eat his food, much to Demeny’s relief.

“And how would you describe your friend’s... sense of dignity?” the uncle asked, leaning forwards a bit, “I was left with the impression that he  _ indulges _ in others a bit more than is normal – is he the sort who goes to disorderly houses?”

Dayar’s cheeks heated up in a moment and he cleared his throat a little in disapproval of the question.

“Do we have to talk about these kind of things when we’re eating?” he complained while Iltarel tried to figure a way to be both honest and loyal in his answer.

“He doesn’t purchase illicit services, no, if that’s what you ask,” he told more coldly. “He sees people, and what experiences he has aren’t for me to judge.”

He silenced a moment, clearly searching for the way to phrase himself next.

“When I first met him, I don’t think he had realized yet that feelings could possess his heart and body. He was a child,” he recalled. “They grow up too fast… Glain has a pure heart, a heart that was so willing to love that when it did, it couldn’t stop. But it was too early, and for all those years, he was simply trying to educate himself to regain control of those feelings,” he smiled with bittersweetness. “It took time for those scars to heal, but they have. I’ve seen them begone, and I sincerely trust that he’s now going to be a lot more careful not to fall in love with the wrong person again. He deserves to be happy.”

Demeny took this information with a fistful of tokka sauce and an expression thereafter.

“And what of simple, carnal needs?” he asked, at which Dayar put his skewer down with a scandalized sound. “He still  _ has them _ , doesn’t he? How does he manage them? Even if you don’t judge, surely you  _ know _ , you’re his closest friend.”

The dark purplish tint deepened on Iltarel’s face, spreading to his neck.

“I… I suppose he manages them very well on his own; not everybody is fit to get rid of those urges with the discipline of military training,” he cleared his throat a bit. “I suppose he  _ might _ have indulged in adventures before, but I am quite certain he hasn’t done anything you would reproach to yourself if you had,  _ and _ he has sworn to keep his record clean from now on,” he pointed. “I imagine he wouldn’t need to see more people if he had  _ one _ person to  _ love _ . After all, he’s been faithful when he did.”

“Oh? And who might he have been in love with, if I may ask?” Demeny took the liberty of pressing the topic further, even though Dayar was sending all signs of dismay available on the emotional radar.

“Believe me, you don’t want to know the details,” Iltarel answered quickly. “That person is either serving a greater purpose for Cardassia or dead, we’ll never know. All that matters is that it’s over and that Glain settled back in a normal life with great prospects for his future and that of his respectable family. I, for one, am very satisfied to leave it at that,” he forced a smile.

“I see,” Demeny took the hint and commented more stiffly, “very satisfactory indeed.”

Dayar relaxed a bit in relief, then eyed their visitor over – they  _ were _ closer in age than him and Glain.

“So, you chose to become a clerk rather than a Conservator? Your parents must have been incensed,” he smiled weakly. “Probably for the better, though. I have a hard time imagining the public eye on you – you’d have to conceal that pale skin of yours, and from what I hear, makeup like that takes  _ hours _ to apply, and then it  _ itches _ ,” he shuddered and sipped from the glass, “What made you change your mind?”

“Pure logic,” Iltarel relaxed a little. “I couldn’t make it to the military already due to my absence of pigmentation and ...bone density issues,” he sighed to himself. “That I’d become a Conservator was one of my father’s most brilliant ideas. I indulged him until I became assistant and declared that I had reached the high peak of my career and could go no further. It was as far as I could meet his expectations, and I took the first loophole in his words to justify my change of line. I do not wish to discuss my career plans further however, but be reassured you’re not missing out on my vastly uninteresting field of work,” he assured.

“I’ve gotten further than my father expected when he set out his goals for me,” Dayar proclaimed, avoiding the part of the topic Jarad had rudely marked as off limits, “still not as far as I’d like to go before I have to found a family. I’d like to study to become an ambassador to the State; there are so many fascinating cultures out there that can – and do – benefit from our presence. I have the linguistic aptitude required, all I need is the official seal, and then I’ll be qualified. It’ll only take four or so years for me to get there.”

He smiled with confidence while Demeny got increasingly uncomfortable; his demeanor had deteriorated to something slightly distant and slouched.

“Hm, traveling is nice,” Iltarel agreed. “It’s interesting, and reassuring to have friends and connections all around the Union. In his previous occupation, Glain too used to travel a lot, and I have a feeling he’s already wondering if he’ll get as many opportunities to fly away with his new position. I hear he might start maneuvering to shift to political analysis, and if that’s correct, I’m certain it would be to get to travel more freely again…” he thinned his eyes. “I know him, and I can see how this trip to Bajor set things into motion…”

Iltarel’s ongoing praise did nothing but to irritate Dayar, and soon, the young editor started to have enough of that theater play.

“He’s too young,” he snapped at last, “and it’s never a good time to be with someone when they are desperate for company – the company of  _ anyone _ .”

“Dayar...”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped at his uncle too.

“Too much recoil…” Iltarel commented with a bit of a sadistic grin, expanding further yet on his friendship – it was what Demeny had invited him for and it was what he would get.

“He’s a friend worth keeping, Edar,” he warned the Chief Editor. “He’s not selfish and he understands things fast. You may outrank him by far at the moment, but you never know how fast he may rise once he starts to climb. That’s how he works; he lays in the wait until everything is set, and then” he snapped his fingers. “He’s cunning, but he’s not malicious. He loves Cardassia, his family and his friends. My only advice for you is to use his talents while you have them at your disposal. He loves to be useful – a most Cardassian feeling, I suppose. And you too,” he looked at Dayar, “You could probably use his help. You would be foolish to pass on such an opportunity. He’s a most brilliant and dedicated archivist, and more even.”

With that Dayar set his glass on the table and leaned back in his chair.

“I’m not some exotic prize to be won,” he seethed as he looked between his uncle and the guest, “and I don’t need handouts from strangers.” Then, he got up and went to his room.

“Ah,” Demeny looked after him, “I’m sorry about that. He’s a bit stressed lately, I think he’s realizing that-” he lowered his voice, “-that he’ll never become what he wished to. He recently got onto medication that is supposed to make him feel better, but I have a feeling he doesn’t take them like he should.”

“Anti-dysphoric drugs?” Iltarel raised an eyebrow and harrumphed. “If it worked so well, he wouldn’t have been allowed to live as a man for so long in the first place, would he?” he argued. “I’m allergic to hair dye and makeup. It’s all in my head, according to my Notator. She kindly prescribed me that sort of medicine, said it’d make me feel happier and more Cardassian,” he showed a bit of teeth. “Maybe I felt happier, but I didn’t feel like myself. I understand he wouldn’t take his treatment,” he picked another skewer and laid back in his chair. “Those chemicals just take your feelings and put them in a box that is supposed to be prettier than  _ you  _ are. Then what does that tell of you as a person? And what of the feelings you feel? Are they even real? Or is it just the drug? Do  _ you _ become the drug? What’s left of you but a shell?” He paused a second. “Glain too tried those but came to the conclusion he preferred to lay with men. He tried to be with girls when he took that medicine. It didn’t work, really. He was just weird and unpleasant to be around. He smiled but it felt aggressive, and there was something desperately sad in his eyes. I was relieved when he stopped, even if I never approved of his disorderliness. I tolerate it because I know he tries and means no harm to Cardassia. Sometimes I wonder if Cardassia does the same. Probably she does, of course. It’s just that there must be some people somewhere who don’t try as hard maybe.”

“It’s very unfortunate that you’ve had such experiences, Jarad, but I assure you, the medicine would work – if Dayar took care to actually follow the prescription,” Demeny sighed and sunk backwards in his chair. “This situation is exactly what Dayar’s father wanted to avoid – dreams competing with reality, and a painful collision with reality as a result. Perhaps it would’ve been better to force him to conform already from the start. If we had, we wouldn’t have ended up here,” he gesticulated to the door his nephew had disappeared through. “All I did was to postpone the inevitable. And he’s not handling it any better now than he did then.”

Iltarel nodded, not showing much any emotion.

“I wish you two nothing but the best in handling this issue,” he said very formally and focused on the food instead. “I do hope to have satiated your curiosity, Edar. But would you like to share with me your opinion of Glain, in fair return?” he asked daringly.

“No, and my opinions of your friend aren’t important, anyway. It’s Dayar you should ask – I’m not even sure he’s into men. But he does need to find a husband, and if he doesn’t soon, his father will assign him someone – likely some single army man from his outpost. Convenience, as you may well know... Dayar will have to sacrifice a lot for Cardassia indeed. It’s his duty, the duty of all of us, and he’ll do it. Whether he likes it or not, is another thing.”

Iltarel blinked slowly in agreement, reserved although not entirely distant.

“You understand that I find myself in a rather delicate position now,” he brought up. “If, for some reason, Dayar were to keep resentment for Glain and avoid him, I have no doubt that my friend will be perceptive enough to understand it all and possibly trace my involvement – I told you, he’s  _ brilliant _ and very good at those things.” He paused and took a deeper breath. “I cannot afford to hurt him. He is my  _ friend _ . I will have to tell him…”

“Again, Your Jarad,” Demeny continued, “if you want Dayar to be nice to Glain, it is  _ him _ you should talk to – and here he is again,” he smiled at Dayar who had come out of his room again and took his seat in silence, then turned to Iltarel.

“I’m sorry for my outburst, I... was a bit out of line. It won’t happen again,” he looked at his uncle, and then continued to eat.

“I’m equally sorry,” the young man apologized. “I was out of line too.” He dared to look at him, tensing a little. “How much did you hear…?”

“More than enough,” Dayar answered distantly. “You’re trying to sell your friend to my uncle. Like this is some kind of... game. Perhaps it even is, to the two of you. It’s convenient for him, to find a male with female parts. But haven’t you considered that  _ maybe _ it’s the male parts he prefers? I don’t expect to have my own needs taken into consideration; Cardassia has given me enough freedom as it is. I must shed these... wishes I have, so that I may serve her better. Or perhaps I should simply cut off my wings and die, it’s almost the same thing, anyway,” he smiled dangerously.

Demeny glared at him.

“Your body belongs to the State,” he reminded him.

“True. Perhaps I should start saying awful things and have them execute me – a completely legal death, from beginning to end.”

“Aren’t you being selfish?” Iltarel interrupted, neck darkening in anger, “Do you not love your uncle to say such things in front of him, so provocatively?” he stared at Dayar. “Our bodies don’t belong to ourselves, and we must be grateful for what we have. The ungrateful don’t get to be executed, young Dayar; they get to contribute to the greater good of Cardassia –  _ If the citizen will not make wise use of their body, the State will see fit to restore the wisdom in manners of altruism _ ,” he quoted the law. “A research specimen, is that what you’d rather be?” he winced. “You should love your uncle and find a husband to love. Love them if you cannot love yourself. Live through them if you must. There is nothing greater than service, there is nothing more necessary than… than it,” he had to stop there. “We don’t need to be happy… The happiness of others is a lot more rewarding. Are you trying to make someone happy? Someone other than yourself…?”

Now this was really out of line, but if there was something Iltarel found offensive, it was people who didn’t  _ try _ .

Demeny leaned back from the table and offered no opinion in anything – this conversation wasn’t his and he wanted no part in it. Dayar, too, was getting pretty angry.

“And what if what you do isn’t enough to make people happy, what then?” he asked in aggravation, “Nothing I ever do is going to delight him – I’ve tried my entire life, I’ve gotten as far as I can before I will have to retire, and he still won’t even  _ look _ at me. It’s as if I don’t exist anymore – I’m just a name in a document, a line of numbers!”

“Dayar,” Demeny nudged his leg under the table, “it’s not what he asked about.”

“Yes it is, he just doesn’t know it,” Dayar shot back at him and ate some stew with unsteady hands holding the spoon and the table’s edge.

“Then you chose the wrong person to love,” Iltarel replied dryly. “There comes a point when the ties of blood draw you back and the only reasonable course of action is to detangle yourself from them and forge your own alliances. You are fortunate enough to have a line of work that both genders can maintain through parenthood. Others of your sort aren’t as fortunate. You may dream of the stars, but at least you can do your job. A ship’s engineer will be grounded with no hope of service other than parenthood,” he thinned his eyes to hide the emotion in them. “You should enjoy what you have. You should love the people who love you. You don’t look like you’re trying, and if that’s the case… you don’t deserve Glain’s friendship, because  _ he _ tries. As we all do.”

“Good, because I neither want nor  _ need _ the friendship of people like him;  _ he  _ is the one who thinks of nobody but himself. He pursues me simply because I’m convenient to his deviance – but you think  _ I _ am the one who isn’t trying? How am I supposed to enjoy  _ anything _ when I know what I do will never amount to anything meaningful? I amass all these skills, but all I can think of is how I’m a massive waste of effort and space, that a  _ real _ man would use my position better than I do – and don’t you dare contradict me on that, because it’s  _ true _ ,” he stabbed the air with his spoon. “How am I supposed to try when I’m not allowed, Jarad? Love? Love isn’t going to fix anything, I’m sick of love.”

Iltarel crunched on a bit of vegetable and gulped it to let out a nasty ‘ _ Ha! _ ’ with a movement that brought slight disorder to his hair.

“It’s a good thing  _ I _ don’t lack determination. Again, I tell you, you are  _ fortunate _ with your field of work. There’s no gender issue tying you. You’re not stuck having to billow around with close to no hope of ever attaining the field of work you are competent for, bound to just find satisfaction in  _ talking _ to the persons who are allowed to do what you yearn for. To hold onto your frustration when you see some of them performing below what you would be capable of in their stead. Fix their mistakes without ever be thanked for it,” he almost accused him as if he were responsible for it. “At least, I’m about certain you never had to find delight in repairing your new superior’s chair after some idiot decided to dry out the mechanisms with tetrion particles,” he chuckled without humor. “You’re not the only one born in the wrong gender… but your fate isn’t the worst I know of. It doesn’t alleviate the pain, of course, and there’s no joy in competing over misery, or so I’ve been told… Still. You strike me as ungrateful. We have to conform, not just for ourselves, but for all the others who do. Your attitude is offensive. You don’t care about others. It’s not love you’re sick of, it’s yourself,” he argued more calmly.

Dayar stared  at him longly, torn between raw anger and fascination.

“That’s already how I feel, though,” he observed with squinting eyes. “You think I’m in the field I wish I were in? I’m a living spell-check, Jarad. I know all these things about all these cultures, but in the end, all I do is words. Other people’s words. I sit where I can’t be seen and I do work for people who, if I do a good job, will never even reflect over the fact that I exist at all,” he waved a hand in the air. “But I am  _ sure _ you have it way worse. And you  _ are _ right, I  _ am _ sick of myself. Why else would I want to die?”

“Don’t say that,” Demeny hushed him desperately, “or someone will surely make it happen – you’re just a bit sick,” he reassured him, “and if you take the medication the doctor prescribed you, you’ll feel better.”

“I already  _ do _ , they make  _ no _ difference!” Dayar flung his spoon into his food and sunk back in his chair. 

Iltarel looked down his plate, thinking of what Dayar said, of what Elem said, of what himself felt, and of Glain’s mostly unspoken concerns. He ticked. He felt a bit dizzy and was growing a suspicion that maybe it wasn’t just because of the argument. Glancing at the candles he winced, moving back as to get away from the aggressive light.

“I’m sorry…” he said embarrassedly, fumbling around his pockets for his hypospray. He thought of getting up but the dizziness increased and he just sat where he was, feeling vaguely embarrassed by the situation. He blinked a bit as he had little choice but to inject himself there, in front of them. “I apologize, I hadn’t realized I needed to…” he pressed the nozzle against his arm and pressed the button, cheeks dark with shame.

“It’s all fine,” Demeny reassured him, “I didn’t realize this dinner would be quite so emotional, yet here we are…” he looked as Iltarel set sorry eyes on Dayar.

“Your drugs don’t work because you’re not part of a group, young Edar… It’s the support of those who love you that matters most. The drugs… they do little. Love has always been the one drug to fuel us all, for glorious Cardassia,” Iltarel smiled softly.

“Now, I’d like to think that I  _ do _ love my nephew...” Demeny pointed softly.

“Jarad knows nothing,” Dayar interjected and glared at him. “I’m not capable of love, not in the sense you describe. I love my uncle, but I don’t have much love for anyone else. And they don’t love me, either – they pretend to, when you talk to them, but behind your back... constant gossips. I love Cardassia, but I’m useless to her. Faulty. I don’t understand why people like me are allowed to reproduce at all. For all we know, whatever is wrong with me could pass to the children. I wouldn’t want to do that to them. I don’t feel alive, I don’t even feel like I’m surviving.”

“It isn’t genetic for all we know,” Iltarel denied. “So far, studies seem to point to yet another form of intersexism, but it doesn’t seem to carry onto the offspring. But I’ll make sure to let Glain know you don’t love anyone.” In a way, that was reassuring. “I can sympathize to your suffering, but I don’t like you,” he said courteously.

He looked at him and it felt like he’d just lied. He felt a slight blush of confusion and diverted his eyes.

“You’re probably too fragile to make friends. Or maybe you are too little capable of finding the right persons. Or the right places.”

“I don’t have the time for friends,” Dayar answered in a snap, “I have to serve Cardassia by day, and the pen by night. If I chose to have friends, I wouldn’t be able to write novels, and if I couldn’t write novels, I’d... I’d have nowhere to escape to,” he took his glass and filled it with water. “But it is fine. You do not have to like me, the same way that I do not like you – you’re arrogant, narrow-minded, self-centered and judgemental. Why should I bother liking someone like you? You don’t even know me, and you already made up your mind about me. Feels nothing but reasonable that I’d do the same in return.”

“You’re both so childish right now,” Demeny muttered in utter disbelief.

He treated himself some skewers while watching the show. He felt sorry for Dayar, but at the same time, it was an interesting conversation, and the boy would  _ get over it _ once he’d stopped being angry.

“I make my mind all the time,” Iltarel didn’t care to stop the argument. “If you ever were to surprise me, I’d make it again. There’s nothing wrong in being judgemental. Lines have to be drawn. Escapism is sweet, but it doesn’t solve your problems. I don’t write novels; I make blueprints and share them with my friends, or design hardware while Glain codes the software… It’s constructive. It connects us. You,” he lifted an eyeridge, “I bet you don’t share what you write? Does it connect you to anyone? Or does it just provides you with your own little world, cut off from society?”

Dayar got up in an instant, leaning on his hands over the table and staring at Jarad with offense.

“And  _ I _ bet you’re also one of those people who believe the military should carry highest priority, and that  _ culture _ is something created by people too  _ un-Cardassian _ to put on an armor,” he sneered a bit, “but you forget that the army is  _ literally _ there to  _ protect _ Cardassia, and Cardassia  _ is _ our culture – our art, our fashion,  _ our literature _ . Scorn me all you want, but beware that in doing so, you scorn all of Cardassia.”

“Actually,” Iltarel leaned forth with a rather smug expression, “you’re wrong. I may not write, but I read, I am a great appreciator of absolutist paintings – they move me greatly – and I enjoy music. I can compose and I can play various string instruments, although not with greatest mastery. Not so surprising considering my mother makes instruments for a living.”

“Ah, yes, but by some strange coincidence, you chose to boast about blueprints instead,” Dayar breathed in a thin voice. “You, Jarad, consider blueprints  _ above _ all of those interests, at least in matter of  _ functionality _ , and  _ that _ is where you are mistaken,” he straightened up and sat back in his chair. “My novels are just as constructive as your blueprints. Just because I haven’t shared them yet, doesn’t mean they are without purpose or importance. It simply means they aren’t  _ done _ yet.”

“Are you certain you aren’t reading too much in this?” Iltarel grinned, amused and somewhat enthused by this odd conversation. “You just want to be right about your impression of me. You dislike the military, don’t you? And it upsets you that I appreciate it,” he crossed his legs, oblivious to the faint blush lining his neckscales. “My blueprints aren’t all weapon designs. My projects with Glain have nothing to do with anything militaristic. Hardware may not be very artistic past the stage of ergonomic design, but that says nothing of what I value over another. We were talking about what we were  _ doing _ for a  _ hobby _ , young Edar,” his gaze turned more predatory. “But if you’d let me read some of your work, I am certain you could find me capable of providing feedback, although it all depends on what type of novel you write. We all have our tastes after all…”

Dayar allowed himself to chuckle. The blush on Iltarel’s neck did nothing to decrease his amusement although he easily figured that it mustn't be so easy for the other to have his emotions written so blatantly on his skin.

“Oh, but I never said I had anything but love for the military,” he smirked and sipped from his glass, “I simply have  _ issues _ with those who are so infatuated with the military that they fail to understand what those fine men are even sacrificing themselves for. And it’s not a hobby-” he continued seamlessly and sat the glass on the table, twirling it, “-not to me. It’s an occupation.  _ Unpaid _ work. I take it as seriously as I do my daytime activities,” he looked up at the other. “Science-fiction, Jarad. Political dramas and conflicts set in alien worlds in a future far away from us – everything out there has changed. Cardassia still prevails, of course, but other species have been wiped out – or changed. And yes,” he pursed his lips, “I guess there’s  _ military activity _ in there as well – I already have a proofreader, but I guess I could extend it to two. He wouldn’t mind,” he gave a smirk. “I  _ hope _ you weren’t expecting enigma tales. I don’t fancy them.”

“Neither do I, they get to be redundant,” Iltarel echoed, not straying his eyes from his interlocutor, not blinking a second. Somehow, Dayar had managed to catch his interest. “I’ll be waiting to read your works with bated breath. Visions of the future are always quite interesting to explore,” he purred. “I like you a bit more now. But don’t worry, it can still get worse. I wouldn’t want you to have to bear with a new friend so soon,” he jested with a bit of aggressivity in his voice and expression. He’d almost forgotten that Demeny was there.

“Then it’s agreed,” Dayar settled the matter and got up, disappeared to his room and reappeared with a read-only PADD, which he slid across the table: “The first fifty pages of  _ The Dying Light _ – for your record, it takes place in a time when the Romulan Star Empire has been all but eradicated by the Klingon-Federation alliance, and the Romulans come to us for help, but  _ we _ are not alone, either, hmm.” He grinned a bit, “It’s the  _ second _ book –” just to give Jarad’s imagination and observational skills an extra challenge. “You should be able to derive from it what was in the first – the first one is  _ only _ for me. I doubt I’ll ever share it with anyone.”

Iltarel took the PADD, starting to read by reflex.

“Why wouldn’t you? Greed?” he jested and flattered at the same time. “Or did you place a self-insert character that reveals too much about yourself?” He’d read the first three lines and his eyes no longer strayed from the screen.

“Because I personally find literature all the better when it simply casts you into the captain’s chair, and you have to learn to fly as you go – that, and I believe deduction to be a skill which books can train you in,” he ate rather peacefully, a lot calmer by now.

Demeny mopped his lips with his napkin and then discretely got up to go prepare the dessert, disappearing out of the room.

Dayar’s book was cryptic indeed – names, present time and memories were tossed in there casually, and the reader had no choice but to sharpen up and commit. As often in Cardassian literature, chronological time was a secondary concern of the author, yet the moments of past, present and future side by side were tied together by their respective pattern – enigmatic but new at the same time. The plot, however, was nothing like an enigma; nor was it anything naïve.

Silence had dawned around the table, barely disturbed by cutlery and dishes being moved. It was rather peaceful and cozy after the more heated arguments.

Iltarel’s mind delved into the text, simply absorbing it at first, processing it only in way to classify and sort the information like a computer would. Only past half of the text did he start to analyze alongside this processus.

“It’s vivid,” he commented at last. “You don’t use temporal prefixes to differentiate the timelines. I like it. I find those codes to be a syntaxial blaspheme, unnecessary and infantilizing; I’m glad you don’t rely on them like too many authors do these days. However, it does feel aggressive and provocative in how much it challenges the reader’s wits ...careful that you don’t turn the writing itself into intellectual erotica,” he raised a chastising gaze on Dayar. “The plot feels promising and the characters feel real. Your depiction of the Romulans does strike me as bearing a feeling of insightfulness – in just a few words, you make them relatable while preserving their alienness. I like it,” he smiled.

Dayar had a satisfied expression on his face at that.

“I only have ten more chapters of that one right now, if you wish to take them with you and get back to me later,” he chimed, then took hold of the cup of hot, sweet soup that Demeny had served him.

(Demeny himself though, slunk back to the kitchen under the pretense that he’d rather do the dishes while the sauce wasn’t stuck to the bowls yet.)

“ _ I’ll take all of it, all of it and it all, three times if I can, _ ” Iltarel answered Dayar with a popular quote from a Ferengi character caught in a temporal distortion. The books it was issued from were fairly popular, but certainly not to Dayar’s taste. Iltarel chuckled. “Oh, don’t make that face, it’s a joke. I did read  _ Chronoton Whispers _ ; Glain forced me to. He’s genuinely persuaded that this series is a parody of the genre, and it’s true that if it  _ were _ , it would be a pretty good one,” he acknowledged. “No, really, I’m eager to read what more you have. There’s something new about your words,” he stroked his thumb over the PADD’s shell with a certain fondness.

“I am  _ glad _ you’re so eager to read what I have to offer. You can take that PADD; I’ll transmit the rest after dinner. Your friend, Glain,” Dayar continued with amusement, “either you’re  _ really _ trying to sell him as a concept to me, or he’s your  _ only _ friend,” he pointed out with a small smile. “Despite what you think of me, I  _ do _ have friends. They aren’t close, they aren’t even truly friends, but they are still company. Ziana, Sokal and Arkeny sometimes deign to visit me, and Damar... he’s cranky and sometimes he gets a bit aggressive, and it scares me, but he’s very caring and loyal – I really like him. He’s a good man, and I can relate to him a lot – he wished to join the military. He even got as far as to go to an Institute for this, but his body had other plans. Now he’s stuck doing something he loathes. I don’t blame him for being unpleasant – at least his foul mood keeps him happy enough to keep him alive.”

“I’ve started to hear about that one, and I can quite relate too of course,” Iltarel chimed in approval, mentioning Ziana, whom Glain spoke highly of, and asking about Arkeny, whom he quickly figured to be the poor sod who had an unfortunate reaction to the Order’s descent. Sokal, he knew of  _ well enough _ .

They talked of Ziana and Glain’s recent project of an afterwork event, which Dayar disliked entirely, while Iltarel considered such moments to be good for the vesala – networking. He finally decided to ask about Sokal Dain too, whom Dayar thought to be a bit creepy despite his politeness and good behavior.

After a moment of awkward silence, Iltarel opted to disambiguate his relationship to Glain some more – it wasn’t just about Glain; it was about the Rokat family too. He might not be related to Nall, Liyara, Keelani… he still felt to them as family. And then he slipped some gossip too, which was amusing or a bit shocking, or both.

“I would’ve never believed a  _ Conservator _ would eat vole,” Dayar commented and leaned forwards too – as the conversation got softer and confidential, he could watch Jarad in a different light. And he was rather stunning, even though those violet eyes still  _ were _ rather unsettling. The discussion flowed more easily, going from dubious food to pets, from pets to Soukara, from Soukara to holoprogramming…

“Sorry, I strayed back to engineering again,” Iltarel flushed slightly as he kept on observing the fine features of Dayar’s face. He was one handsome young man, delicate but not effeminate. Iltarel could see why Glain would like him, really. Did the Soukaran know his eyes truly looked like rainbows?

Dayar smirked a bit.

“Engineering isn’t my strong-point; I lack all talent for those things. I excel at patterns found in society, language and culture, but ah, programming and such, I leave that to those far more able than me,” he glanced up at Iltarel. “People such as you. I always wanted to write a holonovel, but I’m limited. Perhaps... at some point you could help me? I’d be enthused to see what you can do –” Iltarel flushed a little.

“I could, but I probably would have to involve Glain – he’s the software master; I’m more skilled at hardware, even if it does include a deal of programmation.  _ But _ if you have a clear and specific ability to visualize the faces of your characters and the places, I did design a tool allowing to interpret neural engrams in order to model them into holograms. However, it only works with the Rokat’s projector – I had to upgrade it in order to allow it to communicate with the scanner. I must also warn you that calibrating the mind mapping would take a bit of time. It requires that you watch a number of pictures in order to analyze the brain activity patterns they trigger, until the computer starts picking them. Then there’s a phase of test during which the computer tries to communicate back by generating images based on your memory of the picture you saw – it  _ can _ act a bit strange, but eventually, through trial and error, it starts correcting the aim and gets to be more accurate. It’s a matter of generating algorithms to-” he stopped there. “The bottom line is that  _ it works _ . We created some programs with this, some simply based on memories, others more ah… creative,” he glanced sidewise in embarrassment. “Nothing sexual,” he cared to specify.

“That is really rather amazing – did you pitch this to the State already? I bet it could be helpful in tracking criminals from witness verdicts,” Dayar was positively beaming – he could sort of figure out what Jarad was going on about, although not in detail, but that was fine, because  _ Jarad _ knew what he was talking about, and it looked good on him. “When will you have me over, then?”

This time, Iltarel was quite conscious of his flush. Dayar was asking to be invited?

“I- I cannot tell you so soon,” he stuttered. “While I am certain Glain would open the house’s door wide for you, there is bit of a ...situation, at the moment,” he said discreetly. “And I must warn you as well that his little sister mustn’t know that you write – she does too, extensively, and she  _ talks _ as well, and as much,” he hinted.

In the background, his mind kept on processing Dayar’s suggestion. Iltarel hadn’t considered such a use for his invention and couldn’t help but to be both a bit shocked and enthused over the idea. He couldn’t exactly refrain his blushing and smiling when he already tried not to giggle nervously.

“...You really think the State could be interested? -Sorry, I.” He no longer dared to look at him in the eyes, and suddenly found great interest in the edge of the table. It was a pretty table. With a nice edge.

“Yes, I do think so...” Dayar confirmed in a distracted mumble, “such technology could certainly speed up the process.”

He studied the albino, how the candlelight reflected in his hair and his pale scales. He was quaint, intriguing and something about him held an almost symbolic value: beauty, but in many more words.

“Ah, Jarad... I can understand why you’d want to pursue engineering; you’re so joyful and energetic about it. One day, you will be where you wish to be, I am certain.”

“I hope so,” Iltarel nodded, putting effort in retrieving his composure. Something felt wrong and he straightened up, glancing around. “Where has your uncle disappeared ...Edar?” he called for the man.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Demeny stuck out a head through a door, “doing the dishes – we’re just two persons, we don’t exactly need a housekeeper,” he smiled a bit. “Besides, the two of you seemed like you didn’t need me to keep a conversation going,” he stepped into the room, still holding a plate he was drying with a towel. “Is everything alright, Jarad?”

“I… Yes, I suppose,” he nodded. “It’s quite original, the way you invited me over and handle your guest,” he still pointed.

He always hated to get this feeling that something wasn’t clicking correctly. He looked at Dayar, a bit clueless. He did have a nice tan. Until then, Iltarel hadn’t exactly understood what Glain found to be so beautiful about darker pigmentations, but now, he could see it, in the way it reflected light somewhat differently. In the end, Dayar and Glain might be just perfect for each other, he realized.

Demeny smiled and pointed his towel to Dayar.

“The way you were talking to him, I  _ figured _ you rather wanted to be left alone with him. Oh, I don’t disapprove,” he added thoughtfully, “I simply hadn’t expected you to be so...  _ charming _ ,” he added with a meaningful glint in his eye.

Dayar blushed a bit and got up to carry his and Iltarel’s empty dessert bowls to the kitchen while Iltarel paled at once, staring at Demeny.

“You are strongly mistaken, I’m afraid,” he denied dryly and got up, holding to the PADD. “Surely, your mind is making up things that aren’t. A trick of the candlelight, probably. I should now leave. Thank you for this dinner. I hope you don’t invite me over again,” he slowly and stiffly moved toward the door while Demeny returned to the kitchen and his dishes, and shooed Dayar out into the dining room, where he confusedly watched Iltarel as he was leaving.

“Did he say something to offend you?” he finally figured as he caught up with him. “He has a tendency to do that – I’m sorry,” he made a small face, following him to the door and opening it for him. “Let me know when you want to meet me again – and...” he nearly said something along the lines of “ _ I like you a little bit more now, too, _ ” but instead continued with, “have a safe trip back home.”

“T-thanks,” Iltarel nodded, still a bit pale. Demeny was wrong, that was how it was with those disorderly people. “I… I’ll contact you, or maybe Glain will. I’m sorry,” he backed out through the door and spinned to the side suddenly, striding away at a fast pace.

He held the PADD close to his chest, where his heart was beating fast. Demeny was  _ wrong _ .

He made it back to Keelani’s home and found Glain in the bedroom, seemingly reading something. He dropped the PADD instantly to throw himself at Iltarel – for a second, the albino thought his friend had figured where he’d been and was going to murder him, but Glain’s expression was too radiant.

“Iltarel!” the young man set his hands on his elder’s shoulders and dragged him to the bed, forcing him to sit unceremoniously. “I’ve been with a  _ woman _ ,” he shared eagerly. “I did it!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You remember my message at lunch time?”

“No, I don’t- I mean, yes, of course,” Iltarel felt quite confused. “I still don’t get it, Glain.”

The youth rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I saw a comfort woman this morning. We had sex.”

“That’s filthy!” Iltarel reacted at once. “How could you do such a thing!? And it’s illegal!” he blamed, not listening as the other countered that argument with a law quotation proving the exact opposite, “You went to work  _ after? _ That’s properly  _ disgusting _ , Glain!”

“Luzzur, no!” the archivist frowned. “Don’t you understand? I needed to know that I’m capable of it before I can enjoin anyone ...I wouldn’t want to disappoint my spouse, and I’m supposed to make children.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Iltarel turned away from him.

Glain silenced, disappointed, but a bit concerned too.

“You don’t look well. Did it go bad with your family? Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

“No, I don’t,” Iltarel snapped, holding to Dayar’s PADD some more. Then he realized what he was doing and put it aside. “I’m tired. I need a shower.”

Glain let him go without protest, although it did nothing to decrease his concern. He sighed and looked at the PADD left behind on the bed. A book, clearly. He extended his arm to press on a button to check the title, but found that the metadata was missing. It was probably another of Tilayan’s texts – he’d been reading one, it would make sense that she would have shared something with Iltarel too. Checking the text, he found that it clearly wasn’t the same story. Before he knew, he’d started reading. The style was a lot more refined and mature, a lot more Cardassian too; clearly, this wasn’t one of Tilayan’s works. But whom then?

“What are you doing!? I didn’t allow you to read that!” Iltarel had suddenly reappeared and fussed at him, coming to snatch the PADD from his friend’s hands.

“What is it? I thought it was one of Tilayan’s stories, but I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s good, though. Who wrote it?”

Iltarel sat at the desk, holding his face.

“Dayar Edar.” He didn’t need to look at Glain to picture the expression on his face. “His uncle gave me no other choice but to accept an invitation to have dinner with him. At his place,” he couldn’t hide the truth from his friend.

“I see…” Glain squinted.

“He wasn’t… He… I’m not entirely sure what his plan was exactly, but…” He felt so guilty. “Dayar would like to come over. Here. He’s interested in a cooperation to compose a holonovel.”

“Really!? That’s… that’s pretty fantastic! Why do you look so distraught?”

Iltarel closed his eyes.

“I don’t want to be there for that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s final,” the albino got up and removed his bathrobe, coming over to the bed. “Go sit somewhere else, I want to sleep.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes. Don’t ask questions, I won’t answer,” he dropped himself on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	11. II - A new situation

#  A new situation

On the next day, Damar was really rather delighted to see Glain reporting for duty, even though he was secretly convinced the Order might have taken him and stuffed him full of eavesdropping devices during his recent ‘ _ excused by the State _ ’ days of absence.

“Your workload missed you since yesterday,” he said sunnily as soon as he spotted the young man entering the cafeteria. “Freyar is sick,” he added at the man’s own absence, “some sort of... infection or another, I am not entirely sure, and I don’t really want to know the details anyway.”

On Glain’s table, laid a pile of PADDs containing messages and complaints.

“Central Command has come down hard on us first hour this morning – we take up too much server space. If you could find a way to archive all the data more efficiently, that would be useful – oh, and the databases for alien medicine have suffered a hacker attack in the night – it starts at all the Esa entries up until Maet – I don’t think the data is lost, or at least I certainly hope it isn’t, but it’s all been encrypted. We probably have a key fit for the encryption  _ somewhere _ in the guts of our records. Ketiras looked at the mess and mentioned the pattern isn’t like any Cardassian encryption she’s ever seen, so I am prone to believe we might be the target of alien terrorists. Again,” he rolled his eyes. “Because of this we have been granted temporary access to ah, certain databases that contain helpful keys: the man who unlocked the access for me told me that he’s about certain that one of them might fit the lock, but that we’d have to figure out which one on our own.” Damar took a deep breath and continued, “At any rate, as I said, your workload has missed you, and so have I. Freyar  _ really _ is useless when things go up in flames – he’d sooner try to extinguish them by slamming a table over than piss on the flames, and to be honest, neither is very efficient.” He cleared his throat, “Good morning.”

“I’ll start at once, thank you!” Glain chimed happily, as if those had all been very good news to him. “By any chance, could I access a console computer? It  _ would _ make my work a lot more effective than having to work with this,” he gestured at the PADDs and portable computer.

Damar drew a deep, tormented sigh.

“Fine, but only because the Central Command is dogging me. Please bring a chair with you,” he got up from his own and tucked a finger in the ear of his cup, which he brought with him. “Edar!” he shouted down the corridor and then stuck his head into his room, “Rokat will be borrowing your work station.”

“What?” Dayar’s expression deteriorated into something peeved and guarded, “Why?”

“Because I say so,” Damar answered in frustration, then waved Glain to get in there already.

“And how am I supposed to-”

Damar left and came back seconds later, shoving him the portable computer, which Dayar held in his arms with deep offense.

“Let me know when you’re done,” he told Glain as he left, still clutching his teacup.

“It’s a, ah, very unfortunate timing,” the archivist apologized as he set down his chairful of PADDs and explained the reasons of his presence while he started to sort the PADDs and set the ones relevant to the latter issue.  _ Esa to Maet _ , that was too much of a coincidence. He sat in Dayar’s seat and started to run a series of command to connect to the databases.

“I didn’t ask for  _ your  _ computer,” he specified, “I thought I’d get the office of someone who’s not working today. I guess the feud between Damar and your uncle is real.”

“Archivist Rokat,” Dayar started awkwardly as he tried to maneuver the portable computer – it loaded rather slowly, and took even longer to connect to the file he was working on, “how about we just work on our separate job tasks. Silently?”

“I  _ expect _ so,  _ yet  _ if I run across something alien and cannot identify quickly what it is, I  _ hope _ you’ll be so kind as to head over here and explain me what we’re up to – fair trade for the other day,” he smiled with tight lips. “And a good morning to you as well,” he said and turned back to the computer, focusing on his work.

He first needed to find the encryption keys, and could appreciate to find the doors open. Stepping into the black zone was both thrilling and scary. He could almost feel Obsidian eyes locked onto his back, observing his each and every movement, but had to ignore this nagging feeling to concentrate on his task. With his eyepiece, he was becoming a little more part of the machine and could reach a working trance of hyperfocus.

Who could be in need of information on alien medicine? he wondered as he went through the list of keys. There were many of them, too many to simply play guess. Instead he ran a comparative program to find a match between the encryption architecture and the various keys – he didn’t want to risk trying the wrong key and trigger a data-destruction sequence. He had to manipulate the corrupted files in a safe space, making copies of shadow imprints from the central memory buffer so to avoid touching the originals. Even without a sign of a virus, there was no saying the hackers hadn’t planted worms that the system couldn’t detect yet.

The match didn’t take long to get results, but longer to refine due to the  _ large _ number of keys in the database. When he started to get the first items, Glain relaxed a bit; it was all very familiar.

“I won’t need your help after all,” he told Edar. “I can read Bajoran just fine.”

It was strange however. Those keys were typically used by the so-called Resistance. The Bajor colony was deserted of Cardassian presence; why would they make an attack now, and mostly  _ how _ could they possibly do this? Had a Bajoran collaborator on Prime turned coats? When he got to decrypt the files, Glain reviewed the damage and alteration, seeking for inconsistencies in the archive.

“Oh,” he stared at the screen and at the information given by his eyepiece. “Oh, shit.”

He paled a bit. It wasn’t just damage. It was a massive hole, and a pitless one at that. 

How even…?” he murmured in disbelief, searching for any sign, any scrap of data left, to at least understand  _ what _ had disappeared.

“My workplace is a  _ swear-free _ zone, Rokat,” Dayar seethed a bit at the other’s outburst, then couldn’t help but to come eye over his work. “That’s a lot of data,” he commented, “it’s going to take a long time to restore it, isn’t it? Central Command won’t be pleased –  _ Damar _ won’t be pleased.”

Glain covered his own mouth with both hands, still staring at the screen in horror. 

“Don’t look, Edar. The less you see, the better. Turn around, return to your work, and mention this to no one,” the archivist blew.

“ _ Fine _ ,” Dayar answered like a whiplash and went back to his article, which had only halfway loaded in due to a temporary disconnect.

After a while, the editor gave up and opted to go get something from the common room for him and Glain – he might as well do something while his hardware didn’t, and the archivist was grateful for the thoughtful attention.

The more he investigated, the least sense it all made. He couldn’t find what were the deleted files – absolutely  _ nothing _ was left – but he could trace that more files had disappeared from the Bajoran archive of alien species. More specifically, all files concerning diseased Bajoran prisoners… an archive that was about exactly the same size as the hole. He’d frowned at that.  _ Why _ mess the files before deleting them? It was unnecessary, and made erasure more complicated. Digging in memory buffers, he could restore partial bits of files and sighed to himself – Damar would have to be satisfied with those.

But why.

Why would someone, likely from the Obsidian Order,  take all the files concerning diseased Bajoran prisoners. Put them in the folder of species which name starting with Esa. Then delete the folders Esa to Maet – which probably didn’t contain much anything, considering Cardassia seemingly had very little interaction with species of this alphabetical range.

_ Why? _

He wrote all that on a PADD to observe the elements with more distance and try to find out the connection. Edar was back, and Glain froze.

“Esa to Maet… it’s not the species. It’s a message,” his eyes widened. “Esa to Maet,” he smiled widely, warmth illuminating his face. “It’s not… I was misled!” he realized with joy.

It had nothing to do with Elem and Melekor. It had to do with Enkem.

“He’s al…”  _ He’s alive _ , he looked at Dayar with bright eyes.

His happiness was so intense it hurt, he felt like such a huge burden had been removed from his shoulders. Enkem lived. He was on Bajor, somewhere, posing as a Bajoran.

Glain wasn’t sure when exactly he’d gotten up and came over to get his cup from the other, but he floated on a little cloud. He could barely believe it –  _ Enkem lived. _

“I don’t mind for last night,” he said suddenly. “I really don’t. This has to be one of the most beautiful days of my life,” he was too happy to even feel any sort of jealousy. “But I still need to ask you one question, Edar, because someone I deeply care for came back to me in quite a state yesterday night,” he told softly. “What have you and your uncle done to my Iltarel? He told me you were interested to come over to get more familiar with the process of holonovel creation, but wishes not to be present. I find this queer…”

“Oh...”

Bepuzzled, Dayar tried to concentrate on work. And then…

“ _ Oh _ .” Of course.

A less amused expression settled on his face and he shrugged.

“My uncle invited him for dinner – as usual, he didn’t ask me first,” he quickly related the events, how things had gone poorly in the beginning, then better, and how the other had all but invited him.

What a clever trickery of Jarad, to seduce him into visiting the Rokat house to find Glain alone there...

“I’m no longer interested, I’m sorry,” he focused back on his work.

“Edar…” Glain felt embarrassed to have to mention his suspicions. “What I meant to ask was ...did he seem ...interested in you?” he sat on the chair he brought in before. “I need to know. He is my  _ friend _ . I don’t want him to repress anything and suffer.”

“So you’re in on it together,” Dayar said stiffly as he turned around in his chair, stating that he’d rather work and that Glain should do the same for his own sake.

The archivist thought to tell him he’d promised just that to his uncle, who was the one to have blackmailed Iltarel into a dinner to try and interrogate him. Thinking about it, Dayar had to concede the scheme was his uncle’s design, if anyone’s.

“He  _ was _ really rather...  _ charming _ ,” he used his uncle’s word for it, “That is,  _ after _ he called me a selfish, unloving person who doesn’t  _ try _ , and that he didn’t like me. As I said, it went poorly in the beginning – he tried to promote you to the point where it got ridiculous and false. I... fail to see how we are compatible, Rokat. You like being disorderly, arranging parties, keeping friends and you’re  _ young _ . I don’t think you’d genuinely enjoy a life with me. And I believe that you think the state of my body is very convenient – that  _ my body _ is the driving factor behind your desire to court me. Not who I am, but  _ what _ I am.”

Glain couldn’t help but let out a tingling laughter.

“I believe Iltarel’s words might have been ridiculous, but I doubt they were false. He’s not a man of lies,” he assured. “As for myself, I don’t know. If not for my younger age, I believe I have a lot in common with your uncle, whom you quite like – although not in the way one would their spouse,” he jested. “I think there’s a lot about me that you ignore, just as I know very little about you, I reckon. But I know that my initial feeling of you was correct. There’s mystery about you, Edar, and ...I have to apologize to you,” he admitted what had happened with the PADD and the story.

“I got hooked,” he confessed with a faint blush, “I didn’t know it was of you. You’re good with words. Your descriptions are surprising. You bring up unexpected details, you use adjectives in an unusual way, and yet it all fits together so perfectly. It feels like you’ve reshaped abstract poetry into trivial prose and it somehow turns into this stunning piece of literature. I’m impressed,” he told sincerely.

Dayar didn’t look like he was particularly convinced that Glain was telling the truth. In fact, a creeping look of silent anger chiseled out his face.

“And you think that by deceiving me, or perhaps him, by stealing looks of what was never yours to see, you’ll instigate anything between us?” he asked cooly. “If it makes me unloving that I do not appreciate your thievery, then so be it. I’ll be conducting my work in the common room.

And with those words, he slipped the computer off of the desk and went for the door.

Glain let him go.

It hurt a bit but he didn’t mind. He was still smiling when he sat on Dayar’s chair in front of the computer.  _ Enkem lived. _ His smile widened at the thought. Nothing could make that day any less bright than it was.

He hummed joyfully while working on his next assignment. There was a lot of slack in how the database was organized, and while redesigning the structure would take him about two weeks at least, he could already do a bit of cleanup while observing how everybody used their computers. He started to monitor the entire building’s activity in order to produce ergonomy reports to serve as a base for the redesign, and as lunch approached, he figured he’d leave the computer to do its job.

He sent a message home to send his caring thoughts for Tilayan and Kilem who were probably being assessed. Then sent Demeny a message to inform him he would have lunch with him, and left the office. He only dropped by the common room to tell Edar that he could get his computer back, but wasn’t to close any programs still open, and informed Damar that a part of the data could be restored, but if he wanted the rest back, the Chief Archivist would have to ask the Obsidian Order. That said, he left, quite giddy to meet with Demeny.

The man sat at his usual table, enjoying his meal with a rather interesting read off of his PADD – reports from the Ministry of Justice, something commonplace, yes, (and in all honesty he didn’t care much for that particular news), but the charm laid more in  _ how _ they were written. They’d gotten a new secretary, and she had a wonderfully childish way with words, that made the reports rather humorous; something Demeny could appreciate, as he sat sipping his drink and chuckling to himself.

When Glain arrived, he allocated attention to the blissful young man, arrogant and offensive more so than ever, but amusing still. He’d come with concerns about Iltarel, of course, and the Chief Editor pleasantly told him that his dear friend had fallen in love. Glain told him what drama had occurred over Dayar’s PADD, but Demeny knew better than to mingle with such problems – the youthlings would have to solve it on their own.

“But, pray tell, how come you’re having such a brilliant day? Did you finally  _ find _ someone?” he still cared to ask of Glain’s suspicious happiness.

“Actually, yes, I did!” the youth giggled, “Albeit not someone to enjoin, no, and I will not expand on the topic however blissful I am,” he sighed fondly.

The rest of that day passed like a dream for Glain. He moved, he worked, he answered to people if they talked to him, but a part of his mind was elsewhere, simply indulging on feelings like one would get high on drug. As hours passed, he got shrouded in this trip, numbed in it to the point he became very calm and silent, with just a faint smile on his lips and a veil on on his eyes.

He left work and returned home, ready to celebrate whatever was to be celebrated about the children’s assessment. He was pleasant in attitude, but not completely there. Usually, he would have shared his secret with Iltarel, but this time it was too big and heavy, and he didn’t want to think of his pale friend. Not now, not yet. He had a feeling that a coin had been flipped, and in the end, Iltarel might be the one to be happy, to get all he deserved, while Glain would have the memory of Enkem, and only that. It was a new situation.

##  * * *

The determining test of the assessment was an intricate, heavily monitored, virtual and sensorial simulation. The children were offered to pick a role of their liking aboard a Cardassian vessel, and while the initial plot was the same for all, a multitude of paths could be explored based on the candidate’s choices of action. Kilem’s experience had been that of a ship’s doctor, and just like Tilayan had, he too had spotted the strange behavior of their captain. The symptoms were clear: he was suffering from some kind of brain parasite, and as if that wasn’t enough, it seemed to be highly contagious. Erratic, impulsive and self-destructive behaviors ran rampant in the crew, and Kilem drew the conclusion that he himself was immune, as was the ship’s second in command. Together, they worked to stun the entire crew with a photoplasmic impulse, which blew out some of the ship’s systems, including weapons, shields and navigation.

Without these three, they were left adrift and vulnerable as they entered into Federation space. Thankfully for them, the ship that came across them had the courtesy to hail them before they fired, and the federal ship managed to contact the Central Command so that someone could come and tractor the ship and its messed up crew back to Cardassian space.

While less glorious than Tilayan’s endeavour, Kilem had at least managed to get absolutely  _ no one _ killed, except the parasites, which were eradicated with a low-frequency radiation beam. As they were accompanied back home, the program dissolved into nothing, leaving him with his Assessor, Lekom, an elderly Cardassian with very kind, brown eyes.

“Well done,” he’d told him reassuringly as they went to join Nall.

The Conservator had just received the rather strange conclusion on Tilayan – he still wasn’t sure whether the comment had been positive or negative – when Lekom joined them, a hand on Kilem’s shoulder as he led them there.

“Ah, Conservator Rokat, Assessor Emad,” he nodded to them, “His young Kilem is observant, patient, obedient and perfectly capable of controlling his temper. I’d say he’d do well in medicine, but if you want him to go towards alien negotiations, he might do well there too; he managed to reach a conclusive agreement with a Starfleet vessel.”

He patted the boy’s arm, and Nall shone up a bit at the more detailed map.

“Lekom, may I have a word with you?” Emad got up with her PADD and took the both of them aside to present him the breakdown of Tilayan’s results. “I ...am a bit conflicted about this one. She’s the first one to have gone for the plotline of the alien spy captain since this test was created, and she’s a quick learner and a quick thinker, with high brain activity and a sharp observational sense. She seems very caring and prone to taking up responsibilities whenever she feels others are failing their duty, but this… this ending…” she murmured.

Lekom was rather amazed by the run-down.

“They  _ all _ died?” he asked more as a rhetorical question, “A very unfortunate ending, and with her past, you can’t exclude the possibility that she’s suffering from a subconscious form of survivor’s guilt – she might put herself or others in danger as a result. I’d have to mark her down as a  _ poor _ choice for anything within the military,” he sighed in defeat, “But yes, go ahead and debrief with her. I’ll be watching.”

Emad nodded and as she talked with the young girl, it appeared quite clear that Tilayan had tried to outsmart the test and taken her role at heart instead of acting as her own self. When she argued that a teen girl would have a very limited course of action in such a situation, Lekom was close to void the entire test  _ and _ took note of her disrespect of authority. The girl was Emad’s subject still, and the woman decided to further a disambiguation test. The session lasted two more hours but the results were a lot more conclusive at least. Tilayan had proved capable of obeying orders and sticking to boring tasks with as much dedication as she could despite poorer performances, and exploded with creativity whenever given a chance to unleash it. Emad had to shorten the test in which the young girl was to improvise stories, because she could clearly go on endlessly and weaved her words in a dense and elaborate tale without the least difficulty, connecting all the elements Emad was throwing in to make the task harder. In the end, she had a pretty clear portrait to bring to Nall.

“Conservator Rokat, your daughter has a brilliant mind, clearly creative, and she could certainly do well in law, but  _ not  _ as Archon. Ethics, political sciences and psychology would be the fields where she could express her talents. I would in no way recommend any position with executive power, but legislative power could be a reasonable responsibility. If you wish for her to hold a more mediatic position, there is no doubt she would fare very well in writing books or holonovels,” she told. “While she could do great in mediatic political analysis too, I wouldn’t recommend it unless she can soften her edges to avoid upsetting anyone. She has a keen eye, but she also has a bit too strong a devotion to fix absolutely each and every problem she identifies. If she’s not careful to refrain this drive and conform to standards of authority, she is likely to get in trouble – a waste of potential, that would be. As such, the study of political sciences could probably also help her to understand the danger of reckless behaviors and disrespect of authority, while legislation could give her an opportunity to fix cracks and loopholes,” she finished.

Nall tried but failed a little to hide his disappointment.

“Ah, that... is better than nothing,” he thought to say. The result made him a bit tired; he’d gotten his hopes up more than he’d realized. Still, at least it wasn’t all bad. “Thank you for your efforts.”

Emad nodded, feeling a bit sorry for both of them, although she wasn’t allowed to show any such emotions.

“You are welcome. All I can wish you now is to see her bloom to the fullest so she might bring you the pride you do deserve,” she bowed her head and took her leave, not desiring to stay much longer. Her job there was done.

Tilayan too felt disappointed, because her father was disappointed. She clenched her jaws and waited for him to say something or let her go back to her room. She felt slightly grossed out by her own self for having failed his expectations – she did score very high on the creativity and linguistic tests, but what good was it if the man who took her in his family wasn’t happy? And she was swallowing again and again, and each time she felt like all of Cardassia could hear the painful, wet sound in her throat.

At last Nall got up from his seat and went into the kitchen, motioning for Tilayan to follow him. Elem and Keelani were already there, playing a game of kotra, which Elem was losing quite badly.

“How did it go?” Keelani asked the moment she saw them, then her expression faltered a little. “That bad?”

“It didn’t go badly,” Nall refuted her claim and renewed his efforts to look enthused, “She’s brilliant, creative and could do well in law,” he recited the words, “but not as an Archon,” he slouched on a chair.

Keelani made a stupid move in the kotra game due to the distraction and rolled her eyes.

“Come on, you never seriously thought she could become an Archon, did you? She’s adopted, for State’s sake. What kind of message would that send?”

Nall glared at her promptly.

“Stranger things have happened,” he snapped at her. “Elem, what do you think?”

“I-” Elem stuttered and looked at the game, moving to push Keelani’s mistakenly placed piece off of the board.

“Why you little...” Keelani squinted, “are you cheating?”

“No, just taking advantage of your distractedness,” Elem smiled a little, “I’m still losing the game.”

“Yes, you are. Tilayan, dear, would you like something to drink or eat?” Keelani shifted roles back to that of a housekeeper, even if momentarily.

The teen girl wanted to say no, but her stomach begged otherwise. Still, she didn’t exactly feel like sitting.

“Maybe I could help you make tea for everybody,” she proposed instead.

If she could make herself helpful, surely it would be appreciated? Although she was certain Nall wouldn’t think higher of her because she could perform the tasks of a  _ housekeeper _ when he’d shown so little respect for Keelani’s activity lately.

With a tight smile she moved to the stove already. She could certainly use a bit of the old woman’s company and wisdom. Keelani got up from her chair to help Tilayan, while at the same time waving a hand to Elem and Nall as a gesture to get them to leave the room, which they did – Nall went for his study, and Elem went to sit in the living room, staring at the computer monitor and at the by-now rather wilted pot of flowers that he’d come to understand had been sent by Garak.

“He’ll get over it,” Keelani told Tilayan as they were finally alone. “His family has served as Conservators for several generations; he feels like he’s letting down his entire heritage with the lack of a notable heir. Glain, as you know, chose to go against his desires – oh, I am sure the path he took could’ve  _ made _ him a Conservator eventually, but somehow I feel like he doesn’t want that for himself. And Nall, ah... he’s the softest heir to the title for a long time. Leniency toward one’s children is considered a weakness for a reason – he might make his son happy, but it  _ is _ the end of an era for the family, and it is twice as hard to walk up the stairs than down.”

“I do understand that…” Tilayan said weakly. “I wish I could have been better, that I could have done something he really wanted for me to do… I owe him so much and he is so kind,” she said, tears swelling in her eyes. “If only I hadn’t been rude to Assessor Lekom,” she sniffled a bit, “if only I’d chosen the role of diplomat instead of engineer,” her voice started to tremble and she looked up to Keelani. “I  _ blew up _ an entire solar system to destroy a large fleet of the Federation ...also losing two colonies of aliens in the DMZ and our ship..!” she cried. “I killed everybody to save Cardassia and they weren’t happy…!”

Keelani stared at her for a bit, then her shoulders started moving on their own, until a hearty laughter erupted from her and she had to pick a chair to sit on while tears started flowing from her eyes.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard!” her voice had gone shrill with amusement. “Did – did you tell him that? That’s  _ amazing! _ ” she slapped her knees and then managed to calm down a bit: “My personal assessment is that you’ll make for a  _ really good _ kotra player one day, and that’s enough to make  _ me _ proud,” she beamed at the child. “You did well.”

Parted between tear and a contagious laughter, the young girl dried her face, trying to regain some composure.

“Th- Thank you,” she tried to smile a bit more, still bright-eyed but happier yet. “At least, the woman was nicer than the old man. He- he wanted to void the entire test. He thought I was too stupid to understand the instructions,” she kept on emptying her bag. “I just… I was just curious to see if the way I interpreted the rules was part of the game.  _ They _ should have made the rules stricter and clearer,” she defended herself. “He wasn’t so very smart, was he?”

“Ah, don’t say that...” Keelani had gotten to the point where she dried her eyes and thought closer of things. “You’ve been orphaned on Bajor for a long time, it makes sense that you wouldn’t understand what would be normal for... for a Cardassian child. That Assessor is still your superior and a figure of authority, and even if he’s not here to get wounded by your words, the Obsidian Order will still be listening in, especially if you’re considered disorderly. You have to be careful with how you speak of people above you.”

Tilayan sighed but nodded.

“I suppose I’m frustrated,” she admitted. “I’m angry, Keelani,” she sat on the chair next to hers. “Those  _ Bajorans _ , they didn’t just destroy my family, they damaged me as a child. They took away so many things I can never get back and I know that even with hard work I’ll probably never make up for it. You said it, I’m an orphan, and even with such a prestigious name, I’ll always be an orphan. People will feel bad for father, some will even think less of him… I might have survived that attack, but too many parts of me died there,” bitterness rose. “I’m a memory of painful times, a shard of a broken family… I really wish I could make father happy,” she said again, trying not to start crying again too. “What will he do with me now?”

Keelani didn’t answer to that straight away, because her throat had constricted some. She thought of Lykrain – his smile, the glimmer in his eyes when he talked of his new position on Bajor. How it’d only be a couple of months, how honored he’d felt to be picked. They were so young, back then.  _ He _ was so young.

“He’ll have tea with you, now,” Keelani got to her feet and stirred the pot a little, even though it wasn’t necessary, “and I think he’s already happy. He’s just old and sentimental.”

She wondered if she would’ve had more children, siblings for Neimi, had Lykrain returned from Bajor. How many would she have had? Maybe they would’ve been like Tilayan – talented linguists like their father.

She cleared her throat.

“You are a sweet and talented child; Cardassia will be grateful one day, that you got a second chance. Now, pick a tea flavour, and let’s get this to the others.”

Tilayan hurried to pick Nall’s favorite and laid a palm on Keelani’s shoulder, like a kiss.

“You’re too good, Keelani,” she smiled sweetly at her, eyes still a bit wet. “Maybe Glain should propose to you after all,” she jested, “but you’d be getting the lower end of it.”

“Ha! I certainly would,” Keelani agreed as she put the herbs in the water and the sieve on the pot. “Speaking of family, do go get everyone into the living room so I can serve them proper – check if Iltarel is home, too. And Glain  _ should _ be home at this hour, I hope.”

Tilayan nodded and quickly strode through the house to pass the order to everybody before running to the other house to look for Iltarel and Glain. She heard them talking in the bedroom and as she heard her name, she paused to eavesdrop instead of entering already. It was Glain talking about PADDs, and Iltarel was unusually angry at him. Some romance issues, she figured. Then something about a holonovel? It was untimely but she had to enter.

“Hey, kiss or peace, here,” she said boldly and sniffled. “We’re having tea.”

The boys turned quiet at once.

“Have you been crying?” Glain asked, surprised and coming closer to kneel and take a better look at his sister. “Did something go wrong…?”

She shook her head.

“I’m fine… I’m just.  _ Disappointing _ ,” she made effort to keep her voice stable. “Keelani says father will get over it –” Glain tried to hug her but she got away because she didn’t want to end up crying again. “You were talking of making holonovels? You know how to do that? You can teach me?” she asked instead.

“I don’t see the harm in that,” Glain smiled. “If you’re good, maybe you’ll even get to replace me at that. I’m sure Iltarel would appreciate to work with you rather than with me,” he glanced at him.

“Don’t say that,” the albino hissed annoyedly.

“Go home, we’re coming in a second,” Glain pushed Tilayan out the door and closed it to face his friend again, alone. “You’re angry at me, luzzur…”

Iltarel looked down a moment.

“Yes. I am. And you’re just… You look like you don’t even care!”

“Maybe, yes… But I love you nonetheless. It’s just that I’m happy today. I told you, you can have Dayar, you can have everything, absolutely  _ everything _ , Iltarel,” Glain smiled at him, resting his back against the door. “He’s the best thing that has happened to you, how could I be anything but happy?”

“And you’re happy to have conveniently made him angry at me too,” the other accused.

“No… That, I’m not… I wish it’d been otherwise,” he closed his eyes.

“We have to go, get off the door,” Iltarel hissed at him.

In truth, he didn’t want to go, he just wanted to get away from Glain. He was too angry, and there was something sickening about his friend’s strange attitude. Glain didn’t flinch, looking at him getting closer with still dreamy eyes.

“Call me luzzur, Iltarel…” he grabbed the bottom of his friend’s shirt, feeling it playfully. “Say we’re still friends…”

“Of course we’re still friends,” Iltarel groaned. “Stop being…” he tried to find the word but was too annoyed to pin it.

“Disorderly?” Glain suggested. He caught his friend’s face to look at him. He smiled and he could see in those pale purple eyes that Iltarel wanted to smack that smile off his face. “I feel nothing but bliss…” he murmured. “I cannot feel anything else… but bliss…”

“Stop it, Glain, you’re creeping me out,” the albino gulped. “You sound like you’re going to kill yourself. What’s going on?” He hesitated then added, “...Luzzur?”

Pleasure, almost alike to pain, washed over the youth’s face and he hugged his elder, tight and close.

“Oh, luzzur,  _ luzzur _ , I cannot tell you…!” he buried his face against him. “I can’t! I’m just so relieved, so happy… so happy I could die, yes,” he cooed and took a deep breath. “We should go, I suppose,” he looked up at his friend’s concerned face and kissed his lips, lighting a fire on his cheeks. “Let’s go.”

Iltarel was too confused to react. What had just  _ happened? _ He followed his friend although greatly disturbed. That was it. Glain Rokat had gone insane.

“You… What… You need to get checked by your Notator,” he blurted out, getting but a crystalline laughter for answer.

Glain’s feet still weren’t touching the ground. For all he knew, he was already dead. They made their way to the living room and he shone his sunny face onto everyone although he barely saw them. He took Kilem on his lap so he could sit next to Elem on the couch. He paid his sister a large grin of plenitude, slouched against the backrest and closed his eyes. Enkem lived. All pain was gone.

Someone whose pain wasn’t gone, was Nall. Tilayan’s failure to get a recommendation to train for the position of Archon wasn’t  _ just _ a disappointment, it was a hard limit, and it had forced him to realize that maybe he wouldn’t have a successor at all. He’d be the last of the Rokats to fill a meaningful role in the Ministry of Justice. He had committed the biggest crime of them all: failing his own children, his legacy. And so, he had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t as good a person as he wished he was – he wasn’t the person his wife had married. He was a sentimental old man who clung to his past, because it was the only thing honorable about him.

“Thank you,” he still rasped as Keelani served him his tea.

Glain, Nall noted, looked awfully happy – probably because he’d failed to raise him clever enough to understand where everything was going. There he was, seated surrounded by people that were a  _ parody  _ of a family: the gender-confused son who refused to follow in his father’s footsteps; his albino freak friend; the half-alien bastard; and two children not even of his own blood, of which one wouldn’t speak like a normal person, and the other proved capable of blowing up an entire solar system just to act like a hero. And then there was Keelani. A more shameless and improper housekeeper would certainly be difficult to find anywhere. Why his father had never fired her, Nall never  _ could _ understand. He’d even had the nerve to extend that particular gesture beyond his own death, as his death notes had dictated.

He looked at them all with a growing feeling of disgust. This was what  _ he _ had done to a  _ perfectly respectable family _ . He’d turned it into a joke. And in the midst of that joke, he kept his wife alive, dragging her further and further away from dignity and deeper into the disgrace that was the present and, surely, also the future. It had to stop.

“Glain,” he said softly through the mumbling conversations that had started amongst everybody, “It’s time to let your mother go.”

It took a second for Glain to react as silence suddenly fell. He straightened up, feelings still moving inside of him, glued in sick joy and a possible resurfacing old deathwish.

“You’re right, father, it is time,” he agreed.

Nall didn’t smile, and he shook off Keelani’s hand as she laid it on his shoulder.

“I’d like you to arrange for Elem, Kilem and Tilayan to stay in your house for the next two nights,” he told her, “Glain and myself will sit by her side overnight, and administer the drug tomorrow at midday. Iltarel,” he turned to him, “Go to your uncle. Talk to him. Ask if they need help with anything; I’m sure you wouldn’t intrude – pregnancy can be a very tough time; a helping hand is as much as always helpful.”

“You’re certainly right,” Iltarel nodded respectfully, acknowledging he’d intruded in the family’s life too much already. He was a bit worried for Glain, but still somewhat angry with his behavior too, and figured a bit of distance probably would be good for the both of them.

Glain said nothing, but his expression had turned less joyful. He was calm, serene, with bittersweet feelings inside. The end of an era had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	12. II - Liyara

#  Liyara

It had taken Nall an hour or so to find the round paper lanterns in his father’s belongings. For almost seven generations, those red-and-orange lights had been hung in the room for various family members’ shri-tal rites, and Nall hoped that the sight of them might calm his wife, maybe even set her mind in motion so she could share whatever secret she wished to share.

She was fast asleep in her bed as he set up the lights – he’d tasked Glain with lighting the incenses, which were a custom, not from the Rokat family, but from Liyara’s family, and soon the pleasantly spicy fumes of namer draped the room. Then, he got the softest, dark brown blanket, which he laid over her, and then one for himself, and one for Glain, so they could comfort themselves. It was necessary.

Then they sat and watched her as she slept. It might be many hours before she’d wake up, and he didn’t want to wake her – instead, he’d brewed a full pitcher of tea, which he served himself and his son – he held onto his cup like it was the woman he loved, and he almost wished it was over already, so he didn’t have to wait for it to happen.

On his behalf, Glain had often thought of this moment, often wondered how it would feel, and of course, it was turning out being like nothing he’d imagined. Not that it really mattered; and that was the worst. At some point, it became too strange to look at his mother, so he looked at his father instead. Nall was old, tired and ...disappointed, Glain knew. How else could it be? He wished he could make him proud again, he truly did. Enkem lived, wasn’t that all Glain needed to know to be alive himself? ...Or maybe to die in peace. Surrender himself to Cardassia in grateful thankfulness for having spared the life of his beloved. He could drop the bet, drop this most foolish whim of becoming a political analyst. He could become a Conservator like his father always wanted him to, he could take a wife and do his best to pretend he loved her. Have children. And if he ever wanted anything else, it could always wait for Nall to be gone, peaceful, serene and happy, surrounded by the family he’d desired.

“Father…” Glain murmured, “tell me… when this time comes for you, who do you want to see around you? What would make you feel proud of what you’ve accomplished?” he asked and laid a hand on the old man’s knee, staring intensely at him. “My life belongs to you. I was rude and disrespectful yesterday morning. I wish I’d never said the words I said in the voice I said them,” he apologized, soft and humble. “I love you, father… I want to be a son you can look at and be proud of. I want to be what you want me to be. You’re an admirable and respectable man, you deserve to be happy so much more than I will ever do,” he smiled fondly.

Nall couldn’t help but to feel both touched and a little bit offended.

“I haven’t planned on dying so soon,” he answered Glain, as to say ‘ _ don’t get your hopes up _ ’.

“O- of course,” Glain stuttered in a still low voice. “I want you to live old, father, I will always need you,” he assured.

“All I want is for our family name to live on with the dignity and prestige it has held itself deserving of for so many generations,” Nall continued. “To think that it will have been failed by  _ me _ is a heavy burden for me to carry. I kept  _ her _ alive because I wanted her to know that eventually, all would be as it should. I no longer believe that, which is why we are here,” he looked at Glain with sincerity. “Your mother would have sooner disassociated herself from me than see what this family has become. I can’t let her come any further than she already has. She was once a proud, dignified woman, and I have no right to change that.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong… I’m the one who is flawed, probably because of those vaccines,” Glain bit his lips – even if this theory that vaccines could cause gender confusion in some individuals wasn’t entirely proven, it offered a rather comfortable ground to take the shame and burden off the shoulders of parents, and make children feel more like victims and less like criminals. Not that Glain cared on his behalf – “But I’m working to cure myself… I proved to myself that I am capable of being with a woman and do what it takes to make children,” he smiled. “And I can probably fake love well enough that my wife might be happy and give you the grandchildren you wished for. If you think I should become a Conservator so you might be happy, then I probably should.”

Nall looked at Glain in disbelief, over the whole thing, but mostly – “You have proven to yourself that you’re capable of being with a woman,” he echoed with suspicion, “Glain, what did you do?”

“It’s nothing important,” he evaded the question, “I just received some practical advice from a friend,” he answered evasively. “But about my career…?” he tried to keep the topic on more proper tracks.

_ Practical advice _ . Nall didn’t want to know this  _ now _ , and neither did he want to be  _ annoyed _ about it now.

“Glain,” he explained like he would to a very small child, “your mother is dying. Perhaps we should talk about her, not you?”

The young man nodded, clinging to his father’s knee. He tried to say something, but the words kept stuck in his throat.  _ You remember that day when we went to the theater together, but instead we got stuck in the transports and had to change plans and nothing went right, but she was laughing all the time and we had such a good night, as a family, _ he tried to say, but all that came out instead was “I miss her so much…!” Words wrought in a wrangled voice.

Nall held onto Glain’s hand, watching his wife turn under the blanket. She mumbled something, but it was hardly words.

“She recorded something for you,” he finally told. “The day she learned she wouldn’t recover. For three months, before she got too deteriorated to continue, she recorded small moments for you – advice, thoughts, memories she wanted you to think of. She made some for me too. I think... I think it’s time we access those logs.” He squeezed Glain’s hand, “She thought of everything.”

“Ha,” Glain steeled himself, “she always did,” he managed to brighten up. “She was the best possible mother.”

Maybe all the answers to all of his problems were in those logs? He was hopeful.

As Nall accessed a wall panel, he invited Glain to move over there to sit in front of the screen and pressed a comforting hand onto his son’s shoulder.

“There’s more material here than you could possibly watch in one go, but I am about certain she will have given her most important words during the first recordings, when she was certain she could form her thoughts into words properly.”

Then he left to sit with his wife. She was meekly awake now, and confused as to why two men were in her bedroom in the middle of the night, so Nall sung her a melodic lullaby, so she’d know it was him.

The first log started playing.

It was the start of the warm season, under the silvery trees of the biological preservation garden. They had gone there after the doctor’s visit; Nall, Glain and Liyara. A visit of convenience, as the garden was on the way home and Nall had always meant to drop by there sometime to show the flesh-eating plants to Glain (possibly partially to teach him how the world was dangerous). While the two males of her family were off indulging in nature’s horrors, Liyara had sat on her small blanket under the trees, and recorded the first letter to Glain. The warm, dampened sunlight of Cardassia Prime glimmered in her eyes and hair. She was sparkling with strength, youth and life. She smiled at the camera and waved a little – at this stage, she hadn’t yet entirely indulged in the emotional reality that her condition was. Denial.

“When I was thirteen,” she started, “I stared down the maw of death for the first time. And I don’t mean the death of others – this was back when public executions were still the norm – but I mean my own death. My mortality. I wasn’t terrified then, as I nearly fell off of that hanging bridge in the depths of the Soukaran jungles; I simply felt nothing. I couldn’t even open my mouth to ask for help to get up. I hung there for at least fifteen minutes, my fingers aching from the effort and my head spinning with awe at the endless depth beneath me. My aunt realized I was lagging behind and went to see where I’d happened to disappear to. I didn’t think I’d be saved. I didn’t for a second think that anyone would come back to me. What held me there, wasn’t hope, wasn’t fear – what held me there was my own desire to live. Even if my fingers ached, each moment of time in pain, I was alive,” she angled the camera to catch more of the tree above her. “Unconditional surrender to suffering is the reason I survived. Being in pain is not the worst that can happen to you; sometimes it’s even for the better. Pain means that something matters to you – be it your will to live despite of it, or perhaps even because of it.

“You’ll be in a lot of pain. Some of it won’t wear off, some will transform into other feelings. You’ll construct great things out of the pain you feel, build monuments with that pain. I can’t be sorry for the hurt you’ll feel once I am gone, because that pain means that you care, and to care is to be cared for, be it in service to your parents or... or Cardassia herself. To care is to love, and to love is a luxury. It is, Glain, more vital to let yourself love others, than it is to be loved yourself – if all you want is other people’s love, but you yourself have none to give to them, you’ll remain unhappy for the rest of your life, and you won’t understand why. Love your father, love me, love Cardassia, love your friends, your future wife, your children – love them all. But never expect love from them, because if you do, you have missed the point.”

The first recording ended there, since Nall and Glain were making their return in the background, talking loudly and merrily as they went, sunshine cascading over them like a golden waterfall. They truly were beautiful.

How much time had passed since that recording? Three years seemed like an eternity. Glain recalled that day, but those images seemed to be from an alternate reality, a different life. He recognized his mother, but the two men in the end seemed like complete strangers. What had they done to themselves? What had they done to Liyara’s husband and son? He didn’t dare to look toward the bed as an immense guilt creeped over him.

Love. Had he been selfish and greedy, trying to deserve his parents’ love? Probably. Certainly. Why else would he feel so bad in this moment? Like a culprit cornered by guards, ready to be brought in for the trial. His throat hurt but he couldn’t cry. His mother had been so beautiful, so full of energy, so  _ present _ . What legacy was he offering her now? He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to let her words sink in. He wished he could be as strong as her, but he didn’t know exactly how to stop searching for love. He took an inspiration and played the next log.

That one was recorded at the shores outside of town, and the endless sea stretching in front of her. It was more artistic, more symbolic. She stood there, clad in a thin, white dress, ankle-deep in the water, alone. The sky above her hung iron-grey, and the wind was whipping water against the rocks. In the distance, thunder could be heard.

Then, she held her hands toward the sun that couldn’t be seen, and started singing. Her voice was mostly eaten by the ocean, a salty, roaring chaos, but the song was like a liquid silver, and it still reached above. A classic hymn to Cardassia, written by her favoured author, Kimayel Dorang, and Glain sung along in a silent voice so not to cover hers.

She sung of the oceans and the mighty weather, the strength of the wind, the taste of salt in the air, the heartbeat of Cardassia that laid hidden in each and every wave. And when she finished the song, she fell on the knees, just like the main character in the epos the lyrics came from, and she dipped her face and hair in the water, to unite herself with the wilderness which was Cardassia, the wilderness from which they all came.

The video didn’t end immediately; it still lingered on her as she got up and turned, wet and shivering, walked over to the recorder and sat in front of it, covering the screen with her dripping face. Her lips were painted black, and her eyes framed by the same color, and she smiled like a creature of the wilderness, unbound by all limits.

“Don’t live your life without drama and poetry, Glain. Don’t settle into calm defeat when you could light a fire under that which arouses your mind and creativity – you’ll be a wonderful Conservator one day, you’ll make your father proud, and you’ll be  _ fierce _ ,” she made a ‘ _ rawr _ ’ gesture and showed some teeth, “And when you are at your strongest, you should come here, to this beach, and wait for the storm to bind you to Cardassia’s ever-living heartbeat. Then, and only then, can you truly call yourself  _ Cardassian _ .” And she ended the stream there.

On the bed, Nall seemed a bit disturbed by this one, but didn’t say anything about how he found the content to be borderline illegal.

Flush had heated the youth’s cheeks. He was enthused, and in a way, he regretted not to be a Conservator, as to tell her ‘ _ I’m here, mother, I made it. _ ’ Whether he’d surrender to this path or not would have to be his father’s decision, but whichever position the future held for him, he would be sure to take on her advice. He’d always had a strike for drama, he’d always loved those moments they shared reading theater plays and enacting them… This. This was something they had together, something that could never be taken away. Enthused, he smiled and held his hands to his heart.

“Thank you…” he murmured silently as he promised her to come to that same beach in the future, and do as she did. It filled him with inspiration and motivation to do all it took to come to this day.

Prouder, he started the next log with more confidence.

It started with her laughing at someone off camera, then shushing both them and herself, clearing her throat to talk more seriously.

“I find myself thinking about life more than I do death. The life of those I’ll leave behind, those I’m already leaving behind. I’m thinking of all the things you’ll see and think, the realizations you’ll live through, the choices you’ll make...” she smiled and the other person in the background, a woman, started giggling again, “I think about myself when I was your age, the choices I made, the changes that took place long after that I could’ve never imagined. As far as enemies go, I haven’t made many. Simply being Nall’s wife was enough to turn certain people’s smiles into frowns. I know of a handful of women who probably  _ still _ harbour ill will toward me for the choice  _ he _ made. Now, for the secret behind his choice…” she leaned closer.

“I had  _ competition _ , you should know that. Nall might have been entirely oblivious, but half the staff where he worked with at the time were women. Unenjoined women, women who shared his status, who saw themselves as beyond worthy of any such union. And then there was me, his secretary, a personal filing clerk, practically a personal servant.  _ No one _ thought I was even  _ in _ the game. They thought I was air, Glain,” she grinned toothily, “they’d come into his office, and they’d see only him. Glain, sweetscale,  _ beware _ of the woman who sits in the shadow of a powerful man, for she is  _ never _ just a servant.  _ Beware _ of the woman who listens while others speak, who works when others indulge in idle socialization,” she licked her teeth. “One by one I took their words off of their lips, and once they left, I’d pitch them back to him. Stripped bare of their golden honey, I let him see enough of their shallow meaning that he’d be put off of  _ every single one _ of those women. True,” she nodded in confidence, “many times I made things up and distorted the truth to undermine the flattery and sweetness of otherwise suitable courtiers. True, I robbed longing, loving hearts of what they surely genuinely desired – I sat there, and I waged my war, a war against the love of others. Love, again, Glain, is a luxury to feel. A luxury worth fighting for – do not think that your love will keep itself alive, that it’s immune to its surroundings. You have to slay  _ other people’s love _ to place claim on the one you want. There will always be others who want him  _ just as badly as you _ . You’ll have to hurt people, indirectly, to keep yourself in the game. Oh, some of those women very well understood what had happened, the day we enjoined. Dileyal tried and failed to drag my name through the mud – she told your father of what she thought I had done. It only deepened his attraction to me; he thought I was  _ vicious _ . And I was,” she grinned.

“I wanted him and I made him mine. Be insidious, Glain. That’s how you get whom you want. Poison the other suitors with bad talk – I fabricated a rumor that young Nicedine Medero had laid with the librarian  _ and  _ his brother. In public spaces. She got fired – she was so close to stealing Nall from under my hands: her shamelessness forced my hand. She was dangerous and had to be destroyed. Oh, she recovered, eventually, I believe she might have even gotten enjoined, in the end. Whether it was despite or  _ because  _ of that rumor, I don’t know... however,” she raised a warning finger, “the librarian’s brother, Emel Vidar, tracked the rumor down to me.  _ He _ wasn’t happy. I then told him at least the part about his brother was true – it both shut him up and changed his relation to his brother. Do I feel bad about it? Not really. There must have been grounds for distrust already, for my words to have such an effect...”

She silenced and leaned backwards. “Tomorrow you, your father and myself will share dinner with your father’s extended family. I already know what to cook. It’s a surprise, but I know you’ll love it.”

That was devious, and much to Glain’s liking too. He’d always known his mother was smart, but to know her secrets, her determination, to see her disrobe and reveal her wisdom… it was something else entirely. Having drunk every word she said and noted down the names, he smiled. Those were the reasons he was born. Because his mother had been  _ vicious _ and cunning. And he was thankful. What else could he be but thankful for the passion that gave him shape and life?

He thought of Dayar and Iltarel, wondering if he should interfere after all. A man who could write like Dayar was worth fighting for. A friend like Iltarel was worth fighting for even more, although Glain felt a bit cross at him. Maybe it’d do him good to remind his luzzur how disorderly it would appear for him to court a female living as a man. For he’d always considered such things as deviance, Iltarel didn’t deserve Dayar – Glain was the one who faced his own flaws.

Amidst those thoughts his eyes had gotten wet from gratitude and sadness entwined. He still couldn’t bear to look toward the bed, not even to see his father. For a moment, he just wanted to be with his mother. The one who was alive, the one who talked to him, shared her wisdom and malice with him. He mopped the corners of his eyes with his sleeves and crept a little closer to the screen before playing the next log.

That one was set in a dark, glum room. Candles were flickering at the edges of the screen, discreet and slightly occult in their perfect symmetry. In the middle sat Liyara, cross-legged with her eyes focused on the camera – vaguely visible, her scales were outlined by the warm fire-light. It painted her into something predatory, like a snake ready to strike.

“When I was seventeen, it so happened that my favourite uncle was found guilty of crimes against the State. What he had done is of little consequence here, and I shouldn’t be referring to him as my uncle, seeing as we all disassociated ourselves from him. But what you do need to know, is that he was dragged out in the public plaza, where they shot him fifty-four times, until there was practically nothing left of him,” she nodded her head forward. “My confession is that I still mourn him. Not the criminal, but my uncle. He was the sweetest, most compassionate little man. He taught me how to write and swim, and he once took me to the mountains, where we climbed to the first outpost, where no one could hear or see you. There, he told me of things that no child should hear – there, I learned what a criminal he was. But I still loved him,” she smiled, “and I forgave him. When the Obsidian Order interrogated us all on the subject of my uncle, I told them all he had told me. Including that I forgave him for turning himself into a criminal. They then asked me if I could truly forgive him for committing such a crime, that it might just take him away from me, one day. I didn’t know what they meant,” she wet her lips, “so they had to tell me, factually, how badly he had violated Cardassia. And that is when I told them I would never forgive him for this – what I didn’t know, is that all along, he was in that room with me, and those were some of the last words he ever heard me speak. And I regret that, because he wasn’t  _ just _ a criminal, he was  _ also _ my uncle.”

The recording ended and from the other end of the room, Nall let out a surly sound and shook his head in disagreement.

“She hid that well,” he commented, then looked down at the pale copy of her, who was looking up at him in confusion, “I had no idea she had any affection for him at all.”

Glain kept on staring at the screen for a while. He’d never heard about this story nor this person. Instinctively, he knew what it all meant, and certain things his mother said or did took a much different meaning. The incense in the room itself had a different perfume, a different texture, a different presence. Yet, the boy couldn’t bring himself to understand what he’d guessed already. With the large eyes of a child, he turned to his father, lost in innocence.

“You knew of him, father?” he asked. “What had he done? This sweet little man… It… It couldn’t be  _ that _ bad, could it? We don’t have this sort of people in the family, you’re a Conservator, she was your assistant… It’s not possible, right?”

“Pyrak,” he spoke the man’s name with little affection, never looking away from his wife, “he failed in his loyalty to Cardassia, and took part in distractive practices, the kind designed to deter devotion from the greater good to something less sincere, and very disorderly. He then went on and encouraged others to join this little  _ sect _ he’d been led astray by – it’s how it works. Religion. It’s an infectious disease. You heard yourself, he tried to convince your mother to join when she was just a child! It was abusive,” he looked up at Glain, “and as if that wasn’t enough, he failed to cooperate with the Order. He gave them nothing – no names, no locations… They had him executed in public to make an example of him. If he had only cooperated, maybe he could’ve been spared, to serve Cardassia in a work center... It surely is a waste, each time something like this happens.” He rubbed an idle hand over Liyara’s cheek, “And what he chose to do, hurt her. He was a selfish man, and undeserving of her affections.”

Glain tried to imagine his mother as a child, how sweet and delicate she must have been – surely like Glain himself had been, but probably with more temper than him yet. But as his eyes laid on her present self, he couldn’t help but break down to tears. They were silent at first, and he tried to keep them discreet, but he soon had to pick one of the tissues they’d prepared. He hid his face in it, trying not to be too noisy as he wondered in a whimper, “How could anyone want to hurt her like that?”

No, really, that was beyond comprehension because he  _ didn’t want _ to understand anything. This was too dangerous a topic, and too dangerous was what went on in the back of his brain. Attraction to mystery, deathwish and religion didn’t make for a good mix. Sniffling and wiping his nose and eyes, he went for the next log, hoping there would be something more reassuring there, something safer. Healthier.

Thankfully, that one was brighter: Enjam was there, in the background, playing a game of kotra against Keelani. In contrast to the bedroom’s darkness, the room they were in was bright – a sweeter version of the living room.

“I promised you a surprise, and I hold my promises,” she was filming herself as she left the room and went into the kitchen (Keelani could be heard bursting out in a smug  _ ha! _ in the background). “As you might remember, this weekend? Enjam came over to offer his support to your father, and I decided to cook dinner last night – a full course dinner. I hope you remember it fondly, but in case you don’t...” she grinned and filmed some of the leftovers that were sat on the kitchen counter. Amongst the dishes were some of Glain’s absolute favourites, including three different kinds of dessert, “... I have something  _ special _ in store for you. It took some doing and a great deal of help from Enjam’s lady friend, this-” she turned the camera to display a set of three amber data rods, “-is a gift for you. They are all  _ perfect  _ recordings of the courses from yesterday and a couple more that I thought I might skip – I mean, you were all so stuffed, feeding you more would’ve been torture. Where to find them? Ask Keelani, she’ll know. All you need to use them is a standard Cardassian replicator. This one is small meals, this one is proper dinners, and this one are some of your favourite desserts, all of them perfect replicas of my cooking. I thought you might miss it.” She lifted the recorder and looked into it with a wide smile, “You  _ really _ thought I’d leave you without a lifetime supply of my cooking? You’re not getting away that easily!”

And with that, the recording ended.

Nall hadn’t known she’d planned this and, although he wasn’t crying, his eyes were a bit wetter than usual. Glain however didn’t just broke into tears; those were sobs, and all he could do was to cry in his tissue, hiding his entire face in it.

He tried to say things, but the words were unintelligible and himself didn’t know what he was even trying to utter. He wanted his mother. He wanted the woman in the video to still exist and to be there, to hold him and tell him that everything was fine. To wipe his tears and press her face against his, spoon against spoon, nose against nose. To laugh with a joyful voice that could chase any dark cloud away. To say again, “The food is done, Glain! Come now, sweetscale,  _ I _ cooked tonight!” and “Stop tidying your room, I never get a chance to tell you to do it!” or “Let’s go outside, you need to see the light!” and of course, “My handsome son, my smart and handsome son…”

Awkwardly reaching for another tissue, Glain looked at Nall with blurry watery green eyes.

“Fa-ther…!” he identify him and cried, slumping in a shape of dismay and sorrow, “I- I want my-y mo- mother!” he whined with a broken voice like a little child.

In this moment, Glain was only small and Nall simply motioned for him to come over, so they could all be close together.

“Your mother is here,” he told him softly, “locked in her own mind perhaps, but she  _ is _ here, for a little bit longer. Let’s just be here together.”

Sniffling unceremoniously, Glain nodded weakly, sneaking in between his parents. He huddled against his mother, his face buried against her chest.

“I love you so much, mother...!” he cried in a tiny, high-pitched voice. “And I love you too, father,” he grabbed his father’s arm and hugged it, almost causing him to collapse over them both. “I love you so much, mother, father… I exist because you love each other, I’m the proof you loved each other so much… so much it gave me life…” He sighed, took a deep breath and sighed again, calling for his mother like a child, and broke into sobs again at the realization of all that laid behind this word, all he’d lost already.

Liyara lifted her arms to lay them around Glain, hugging him and stroking his hair, hushing him until she fell into a small mumble of a nursery rhyme, one she’d often sung to him when he was little.

Meanwhile, Nall removed himself discreetly and went to the panel. There, he accessed his recordings. Most of it poetry, some of it symbolic – one of them he had to skip because it seemed to be turning sexual and this  _ really _ wasn’t the time. Then she told of her uncle and the interrogation with the Order. She told how she’d played a vital role in the arrest of a low ranking army man called Ikem Kreset, who was later condemned to serve as a test subject for the State, and how she still counted the Kreset family amongst her sworn enemies, for that they realized her role in the conviction. She told how she worried they might try something once she was no longer able to function, but that ultimately it would be a big risk for them to take, as it wouldn’t be seen favourable to take advantage of her illness like that, and that, as such, Nall was a great protection for her.

Then she went over mundane things, such as her desire that Nall would keep only a select few of her possessions, and offer the rest to Glain, and those Glain didn’t want, should be given to any of the orphanage sectors on Cardassia. That she wanted for each and every one of her belongings to keep functionality, not just sentiment.

And then, she told how she hoped he’d enjoin again, and grant Glain his wish to have siblings. That she’d be cross at him if he refused to move on, because he  _ had _ to move on, he was the one who had to live, and if he squandered that life, she’d have to mourn for him too, and she was already in enough pain for herself to have much left over for him. The last log she had for him was a declaration of love and softness, a reassurance that she knew he’d do the best to be there for her, but that really, she didn’t want him to sacrifice himself for her.

On the bed, relaxing into the gentle warmth of his mother’s embrace, Glain too had listened to the more youthful voice from the recordings. He could hear in the last ones that her condition was starting to degrade – there were pauses, moments of uncertainty about the words, but she was determined to get her point through. In the end, he smiled at his father.

“You… you’ve done better than I, already,” he let out, forcing a giggle. “Father gave me siblings, mother,” he told her. “I love them, and they will make us proud, all of them… They already make me so proud and happy,” he nuzzled her throat. “There’s Elem… my step-sister, father’s blood… She’s so intelligent and beautiful, so incredibly brave too. I cannot tell how amazing she is because she hasn’t stopped surprising me yet,” he beamed. “And then there’s Kilem and Tilayan. Orphans father adopted; Elem and I chose them. But let me tell you a secret,” he neared her ear to whisper: “ _ Kilem is genetically-engineered, I just know he will do great; he will be a doctor. I hope… I hope one day he’ll find a cure to your disease so- so nobody has to suffer like- like we do now…! _ ” he ended there, trying not to cry again, and looked at Nall though he still spoke to her. “Father is… Father is so handsome, mother, and still the same smart, very smart man. Kind, so kind, too kind… I love him so much…” he had to inhale deeply to steel himself. “Thank you for choosing him, thank you for giving me such a wonderful, wonderful father that I can love, respect and admire so unconditionally.”

Nall got up from his chair and dried his face with the back of his hand.

“I’ll go to the kitchen to get us something to drink... would you like water or tea?” he asked croakily – he knew it was necessary to stay hydrated, and he didn’t want Glain to end up with a headache.

“Water,” Glain sniffled. “No, wait, tea. Or just warm milk. Unless water would be better… I… I let you choose,” he surrendered. “It’s  _ your _ kitchen.”

##  * * *

Glain had fallen asleep in the bed, and Nall had let him nap there with his mother while he went and prepared the breakfast. Boiled eggs, soft bread, warm fish juice for himself, cold one for Glain, and sweetened breakfast pastries were amongst the treats on the menu. It took him an hour and a half to finish it all and set it on a tray. Once he’d carried the food to the bedroom, he set the bowls and basket on the small circular table next to the windows. Then, he woke Glain with a soft touch, and let him go get extra chairs, while he woke his wife and dressed her for breakfast. She could eat on her own, but because it often ended in spilled drink and confusion as to what she was eating, Nall helped by steadying her hands and reminding her of what it was she ate, even though he was certain that some of the words were lost to her.

He allowed the breakfast to be otherwise silent, a moment of togetherness for the three of them. Afterwards, they went outside for a brief moment – the sun had risen beautifully, and the sky was painted in lush shades of a multitude of colors. That moment was, ultimately, more a respite for Nall himself, and hopefully Glain too, because Liyara spent most of it being bothered by a loose thread in her left sleeve – it itched the skin a little but she couldn’t entirely manage to grab it to get it off, nor was she completely sure that it was a good idea.

As the wind carried the scent of freshly baked bread through the air – likely from neighbours – they decided to go back inside, and lay Liyara back to her bed.

Midday came, and Nall went to prepare the hypospray while he left it to Glain to sit with his mother and talk to her. The young man knew his words were probably mostly nonsensical and confusing to her, and so he decided to sing instead. It was a moment for her, and he thought it should carry an essence she would have appreciated, had her consciousness been whole. Bare-footed, he climbed on the bed and stood with a knee on either side of her body, took her hands in his own, and let his voice rise in the room.

He’d picked a soft song telling of the comfort of families being reunited with their beloved who went to fight in the darkest darkness of space, to protect Cardassia, and now, their duty fulfilled, could come back and rest. On a symbolic level, it felt fitting.

Glain swayed as he sang, looking at her with wide eyes, moving her arms so she could feel her body and accompany him in this poetry and drama. She was confused but seemed enthused somehow – at least she wasn’t scared and let him do, although she was bepuzzled by the song and the man towering above her. She laughed a bit at her own confusion.

“You remind me of my son,” she said without really knowing what words came through her mouth, “He was given to me by the stars, such a brilliant child. Where is he, now?”

Glain beamed, receiving the words like a blessing.

“He’s flying and gliding in the shadow of the clouds beneath the sun, he’s swimming in the salt of the green sea that fills his eyes,” he hummed, rising his arms above his head like trying to grab the sun and spread them like a swimmer. “He’s a bird now,” he stilled his arms, like wings. “He owns the sky and the sea, the ashes and the fire, but mostly the green softness of the gentle gaze he lays upon you as he thanks you for everything,” he bowed down. “Your son is grateful, Liyara. Your son is thankful for the life you gave him. The stars shine in his eyes,” he smiled fondly. “May they grant him many children.”

She could imagine it quite vividly, smiling at the idea of it.

“It is time,” Nall murmured in the dark. He’d been watching, and he felt like he had so many times before: uncertain. Was this the right time, truly? She looked happy, and if she still could get joy out of life, why should he take her away like this...? What had begun couldn’t be stopped, but he wondered, would he come to regret it one day?

“It couldn’t be a better time,” Glain smiled back at her and removed himself to sit by her side, on his knees, and give space to his father. He held her hand and looked at her. Soon, they would all be free. “Deliver it, father… Deliver her,” he tightened his fingers around hers, squeezing them just a little.

Nall swallowed and came along to sit by her right side. Liyara looked at him, smiling almost serenely. Did she understand what was happening? Was it even within her capabilities at this stage? He leaned forward and kissed her lips, then her forehead. She lifted her free hand and stroked his cheek. Something of her, the true her, was there in her eyes, almost as to calm him and encourage him. Her peacefulness was nearly sickening to him, yet he forced himself to smile back, despite the tears gathering in his eyes.

And then he pressed the medical tool to her neck and delivered the cure to her suffering with a brief, whispering sound. She closed her eyes slowly, two more breaths escaped her before she stilled and her hand fell to the bed. Nall tried to steel himself, but ended up leaving the room rather hastily to go somewhere to be alone – he locked himself in his study, and only then he felt like he could finally cry.

Glain could respect his father’s pudeur. In a way, he was, maybe, thankful for it as he stayed by his mother’s side, laying her hands above her chest. Something about her body was changing already though she was still warm and soft. He caressed her hair and bent down to nuzzle her face. And kissed her lips, longly, as to share a last secret with her, something nobody else would know – not even the Obsidian Order’s cameras could see what tender contact was being shared.

“I loved you, I always will,” he murmured against her lips, “you gave me more than life, you gave me everything a child can dream of… You will be remembered fondly, I promise,” he caressed her face.

At last, he rose again and laid a thin and long cylinder cushion wrought in soft patches of golden and violet fabric on her throat, to make sure her mouth would keep closed, attaching both ends at the top of her head with a silver clasp. He made sure she looked dignified and serene, adding some more baubles, jewels and ornaments until she laid in a luxurious sea of bright orange, yellow and red fabric. He then lit a new rod of incense and left the room. Keelani’s was where he headed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	13. II - Orderly shades of grey

#  Orderly shades of grey

“It’s done,” Glain announced. For a second he thought he was going to cry again, but he didn’t. He was calm. Free.

It was over, finally.

Keelani, who had been sitting in the couch, reading a long article on  _ How to eat what can’t be eaten _ – _ fifty ways to cook vermin _ , set her PADD aside and hurried over to Glain, holding him into a hug. Whether he was crying or not didn’t matter to her,  _ she _ needed a hug.

“Is there anything you need?” she asked as she parted from him, eyes filled with concern. It was such a surreal feeling – Liyara had already been gone for such a long time, that waiting for her to die had become such an intricate part of Keelani’s life, and she wasn’t sure what to do, now.

“Well,” Glain said, “lunch would be nice. And ah, I should probably check my PADD, see if my monitoring program has some interesting results yet – for work,” he specified, giggling as if it was just another day. He interrupted himself to look at Keelani. “Maybe  _ I _ can do something for  _ you _ ? You look like you could use some help,” he flashed one of his most charming smiles and took her hand to drag them both to the kitchen. “Come, life is a war and we’re going to win it, Keelani!”

“Glain...” Keelani humored him though – if this was what he needed right then, she wouldn’t oppose.

In the kitchen, Kilem was sitting on a chair while bottle-feeding his kitten. When he spotted Glain, he instantly got up to leave them to their privacy. The young man appreciated, moving to the fridge and cupboard already to take ingredients that felt like “yes, why not” to prepare something to eat.

While cooking, and without much of a transition, he opted to tell Keelani about the comfort woman he’d seen, then turned more serious as he expanded on the late intrigues with the Edar and Iltarel.

“It’s not the first time Iltarel’s flirting with someone –  _ I _ would know of that,” he pointed at himself for obvious reasons – “but now that he’s realized what happened, he’s interested in Dayar. Honestly? I don’t think they make a good match. Dayar is a  _ man _ , and if Iltarel  _ wanted _ to be interested in men, he should have been with  _ me _ at least once,” he argued. “After all those years of calling me disorderly, I find it very distasteful that he’d grow interest for the same person as I. And both of them could use a more normal partner.” Someone like him. “Mother chose father, she fought for him, and I am proud to be born of such stubbornness and passion. I can’t let down that legacy. I want my children to be born of love, not out of necessity.”

“And do you?” she asked as he finally silenced, “Do you love him like your mother loved your father?” she paused, then leaned backwards in her seat, “Or is it _ Iltarel  _ whom you love like this?” she asked more insidiously, waiting for him to react.

He was surprised by the question, taken aback, but not in an unpleasant way, he realized. A laughter escaped him and he glanced around to see that they were alone before coming over to whisper to her ear.

“I think I might love them  _ both _ ,” he shamelessly revealed. “It’s strange, isn’t it? But how else could it be?” he stepped back with a dramatic attitude. “How  _ else _ could it be? Iltarel is my luzzur, my sweetest scale. Dayar is an appeal to my mind and my body. He’s infuriating and takes the wrong side of everything but I feel drawn to care for him. Maybe because I couldn’t care for Lukor, yes, but,” he pointed with a finger. “I  _ like _ him at least. I keep on thinking of him… I know he might not be the most suitable mate in regards of logic, I know having children with someone like him would be difficult… but just because it’s harder doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. In love, the harder, the better, hm?” he threw in an innuendo before getting back to chopping vegetables to fry with eggs.

The housekeeper felt a bit of doubt both about Glain’s cooking and his reasoning.

“Why would having children with him be  _ harder _ ?” she asked, wondering what Glain even expected being a parent was like, “When my daughter was born, everything was difficult. Blissful, but extremely challenging. She was very much her father’s child, she took it so hard when he died...” she trailed off into a sigh, “as did we all, I suppose.”

“We did…” he recalled sadly. “But you were proud to be with child, weren’t you? To see your womb round with life must have been quite positive and reassuring…” he suggested, starting to add spices in the pan. “I doubt Dayar will be as delighted to see his body take on such female traits, and I wouldn’t rely on anti-dysphoric drugs to keep him happy and alive. Months of pregnancy with him will be an ordeal for both parents. When the pain is in the brain, the temptation…” he raised the knife he was using before and gave Keelani a meaningful look, “...must be fought every second of every minute. For those who are flawed, the dilemma is ongoing,” he observed the half of his face reflected in the sharp metal. “Escape in death is a crime, but so is our existence… so which crime is the lesser? Which blaspheme serves Cardassia the most…?” he moved the knife to observe the other side of his face, then looked at her again. “There is no final answer to this question, I guess. It all depends on our actions,” he put the knife down and stirred the vegetables in the pan.

Keelani didn’t think it necessary to add that one couldn’t really take such drugs while pregnant; instead she watched Glain. His words had turned as blasphemous as his cooking; Nall would’ve surely been disturbed to hear such talk.

“Everyone sacrifices parts of themselves for the better of Cardassia, not just you or people like you,” she told him rather sternly. “Now, what you choose to do is up to you, but if you want my advice...  _ find a real woman _ , Glain. You already have these rumors about you floating around, you don’t want to put fuel on the flames: you want to put  _ water _ on the flames. As you said, Dayar is a man. Now, someone like Iltarel, he has a lot  _ less _ to lose from such a union. He’s already strange, and it makes sense for Dayar to have no other choice but to settle with someone... someone subpar, like him.”

Glain let out a grunt to signify he didn’t approve of those words.

“A real woman,” he repeated. “One who won’t ask questions as to why I don’t want her to utter a sound while I take her in the dark, hm?” he felt nauseous at the thought and had to turn his back to the food, resting a hand on his stomach as to keep it in place. “I might as well have to gag her, and what sort of woman would accept that? I can fake feelings, I can fake being charming, but I can’t fake an erection as easily, and really… I’m not sure I’d feel good lying to her. The best way I’ve always seen it, I’d end up with a woman as confused as me, who’d sleep with the housekeeper. So much for the children… How am I supposed to do? Either they’ll live in a lie that is likely to break down to pieces at some point, and their mother will take them away from me, either they’ll live in a disorderly household and probably will grow up to be just as disorderly!” He sighed loudly.

Keelani wasn’t sure what to tell him.

“Sleep with the housekeeper? How indecent. I like it,” she commented without her usual humour, “Unless you get a male housekeeper, with whom  _ you’ll _ sleep,” she chuckled as she thought about it, “and then just when you’re about to ejaculate, you can switch person.” She was a genius there to solve the woes of undercover dubious sexuality, she was sure of it.

Glain looked at her annoyedly.

“It’s called  _ shehmahk _ ,” he informed her that she hadn’t invented anything. “Najal and I used to joke about it, how we could do that the day she’d find a girlfriend I could enjoin, and me a lover she could enjoin as well…” he shook his head and started stirring again to avoid burning the food. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of the children. I’m not sure there is any satisfying solution. The problem is in me, there’s something wrong there, something against nature. I probably don’t deserve to be happy, but I don’t want to turn into some awful frustrated person who will grow to hate his own children just because they’re the reason he’s bound to a loveless life of pretense.”

“It has nothing to do with what’s natural and everything to do with service to the Union,” Keelani pointed out. “I’ve seen voles mounting creatures not even their own species, and  _ that _ is natural. Birds mating with birds of the same sex, or with several individuals... that  _ is _ nature, Glain. It is not that it is unnatural, it’s that it’s not useful to the State. You are  _ not _ a vole, you’re a Cardassian citizen, and you have duties, one of which is to further your father’s legacy – as for the children... there are countless people out there in the same situation as you. Most of our children turn out well enough. It’s all about your capability to conceal. Army wives have the best options for this, I am sure many of those are suspicious and pursue relationships while their men are out there serving Cardassia in the most male way. And while infidelity is illegal, it’s not like they could produce any bastards, anyway, so let them do...” she shrugged. “You’re a little arrogant, Glain, to think that your problem is so unique it’s impossible to solve.”

“Why, yes, I  _ am _ arrogant,” he agreed, “that’s part of my charm,” he waved his shoulders to make his neckscales dance a bit, then laughed. “I suppose you might be right, still…”

Keelani had the distinct feeling that Glain wasn’t going to  _ actually _ listen to her – he was too stuck up his own thoughts, which she couldn’t exactly blame him for, not in this moment.

“Tell me, do we happen to have black dye, for clothes?” he asked without transition.

“Might have it somewhere in the wash-room, for when clothes get bleach marks, but I’m not sure how much. We’ve got  _ a lot _ of dark-grey and amber orange, though. Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want to try something more colorful?”

“Dark grey will do for now,” he answered instead. “It’s time I became more orderly indeed, and those are very orderly colors, I believe,” he said, not entirely realizing how that could be interpreted. He grinned however. “That should help me remember my goals.”

He broke eggs in the pan and scrambled them with the vegetables. In less than a minute, the cooking was over and he served it.

“I think that’s either a Trillian or Vulcan sort of recipe,” he told Keelani. “Not that there’s much of a difference between the two, I suppose.”

Keelani looked down at her plate with a polite absence of disgust, even though she thought it looked like it had already been eaten once before. Alien food. Why did it have to be so uncivilized?

“I hope you will not judge me too harshly if I drink a cup of juice instead,” she said as she got to the cabinet to pour herself a drink, “Maybe you should go ask Nall if he’d like to come eat something.” She had a feeling he wouldn’t want.

“Too early for him,” Glain sat and took his fork, starting to eat. “And I doubt he would want to eat this, even though it’s actually pretty good. Does lack something though… Probably some alien ingredient,” he shrugged. “Talking about food, there are three datarods mother gave you. I would like to have them,” he smiled, although his expression was a bit harder than usual.

“Three data rods? Oh, hm,” she frowned and grabbed her chin with one hand, while sliding the plate away with her other, “now that you mention it, she  _ did _ give me a box she said to give to you at a special occasion... though I wonder if we didn’t get rid of that when Nall tidied up Neimi’s former bedroom.”

Glain froze and stared at her, greatly unamused. His hand clenched around his cutlery. He had a fork and he was ready to use it.

“You  _ didn’t _ …” – Keelani’s more sadistic half chuckled a bit.

“I didn’t,” she answered and pointed at the plate in front of her, “I had to avenge myself for  _ this _ atrocity; I’m sorry Glain, but you’re not much of a chef right now,” she then got up and stood on her toes to reach the shelf just above the cabinet, rummaged around with her fingertips a bit and then drew down a paper box, which she opened and lifted a red velvet bag from, closed with a golden ribbon. “This, I believe, is yours,” she said and turned around to offer him the pouch.

The young man accepted it and lost himself looking at it for a moment. Then he steeled himself and put it in his pocket.

“Thank you,” he finally said and resumed to eating. “You cook voles,” he decided to defend himself. “Don’t criticize my alien cooking, or  _ taste _ it at least.”

“At least I cook my voles in a  _ Cardassian _ manner,” she told him smugly, “and if I don’t misremember, everyone liked it. Even Nall, and he’s such a picky wuss sometimes.”

“And who’s a wuss about alien food?” Glain objected. “At least, the ingredients are Cardassian. I guess I’m just more of a cosmopolitan person with a sane capability to step into the unknown and remain whole. Food, Keelani, is key to understanding other cultures, and knowing the enemy is key to survival.”

“There’s no reason I should understand barbarism and the primitives who live in disorder. Besides, I’m too old for such nonsense,” Keelani pursued her point and stubbornly stuck to her juice.

Glain chuckled but didn’t argue back. Instead he gave her orders to dye some of his clothes in the darkest shade of grey available. Keelani thought to protest but opted to give him some leeway.

Once the young man had picked the clothes and left to check on his father, she gathered Kilem and Tilayan to turn it in a group effort and teach them how to dye clothes – she also offered some of the more funny colors in a different bucket, and provided them with string, so they could create patterns of un-dyed parts on whatever clothes they chose to dye for themselves. If Glain was going to make it rain, Keelani may as well turn it into a rainbow.

 

Meanwhile, Nall was still in his study, where he sat uselessly on the floor with a bottle of thick, black Kanar. The knock on his door prompted him to lock said door with a single voice command, and then continue to drink unceremoniously from the bottle itself. Nall Rokat had never had issues with alcohol, not like his grandfather, who had become slightly abusive of the bottle once he’d retired. Nall, of course, knew that he’d never been particularly well-behaved while drunk, but it had gotten worse as he got older. Poor Melekor, he figured, there was a reason why  _ he _ had ended up the way he’d been and inherited the habit. While Nall didn’t plan on furthering the unhealthy heritage, he just wanted to indulge for this one moment.

On the other side of the door, his son, unaware of the mess his father was turning himself into, thought to give him time and privacy in mourning, and went on to occupy his own mind in his office.

He didn’t have the time to sink very far down into his work as a chime at the main door called for his attention. There, he found Notator Sokal Dain, who gave him a most pathetic excuse for his visit of courtesy. More like courting, Glain thought but let him in, returning to his office with him while chit-chatting almost innocently. It was all a game of pretense and Glain was the one to break it.

“You know, I could tell my father that a Notator is courting his protégée, or I could tell him a sadist pervert is-” he interrupted himself as Dain stiffened at once. “Oh, that would be really awful of me, come on! I’m not such a terrible person!” he chastised him. “But I see I was right in my assumptions…” he looked at him. “Give her pleasure if that’s what she wants, but don’t you hurt her soul, and don’t you let  _ anyone _ know. It’s a secret between the three of us and nobody else.” Well, he still glanced at the cameras.

“I’m a Notator, Rokat, secret is part of my profession.”

“Call me Glain,” the young man relaxed on his chair, absent-mindedly launching some more tasks on the computer. “Not at work, of course, but if you keep on coming, I’m going to have to see you as a friend.” Not that Sokal trusted him.

“You are a smart young man, Glain. ...Is there something you expect of me?”

“Nothing. Not yet,” the youth smiled, “But don’t worry,  _ Sokal _ , I’m mostly a nice person. You can go see her at Keelani’s.”

##  * * *

Elem had spent her day in peaceful, yet productive, solitude. She’d conducted a number of com-conversations that had gone reasonably well, and had successfully managed to apply to and get registered at the public library. There, she’d accessed several records on basic ship’s lingo, and begun the painful process of reading actual Kardasi alongside the surprisingly tidy translation. For the purpose of the exercise, she’d also asked the computer to read the logs out loud,  _ and _ she’d inactivated her universal translator to hear the voice speak properly, mimicking the pronunciation to the best of her abilities (she  _ did _ feel like she was butchering a perfectly fine language with her attempts).

As afternoon ticked in and her stomach growled a little, she went upstairs (which was the ground floor on the garden-side of the house) to find the place seemingly deserted. Wherever Keelani and the children had gone without her, she wasn’t sure, but she figured she wasn’t exactly prohibited from serving herself something to eat and found the abandoned portion of scrambled-eggs-with-vegetables on the table, rather cold, but still fully edible,  and pretty good once reheated. Juggling the bowl and her PADD, she asked the computer to read the last passage again, and took her business to the living room, where she sat and ate while reading along silently. Some of the words were  _ very _ difficult, especially since the pronunciation sometimes was nothing like she’d expected.

It was around this time, that the door chimed. First once, then twice – as no one else would open, she took the duty upon herself. Somehow, she hadn’t expected Dain, but it was a pleasant surprise.

“Come in,” she stepped aside to let him enter, not yet remembering that her translator was offline.

“Kolainy madran mai’iri,” Dain answered, slightly embarrassed as he stepped in. “Si’zař pa’firilú tuvithi,” he excused himself. Then realized she didn’t seem to understand a single word he said. “You understand butter this why?” he attempted to speak in their common language. “I don’t get practise in Federation tongue oven,” he tried his best, although some sounds weren’t exactly correct.

It took effort for Elem not to laugh at his face and she let him in before excusing herself, running away to her bedroom to get the tool allowing to reactivate her translator, while giggling to herself.

She returned to the living room, where she could explain the awkward situation better and inform Sokal of his own mispronunciations when he asked if he hadn’t made too much of a fool of himself. The Notator couldn’t help but laugh, and the sound attracted the attention of Tilayan’s sharp ears. Quickly, she appeared, wearing an apron, forearms black from dye and a bright sunny smile at the sight of their visitor. Elem had to ask her what she’d been doing and as the girl explained, Dain appeared to be perfectly fluid with the topic and enthused with the activity.

“This looks like quite a dark color,” he noted.

“And there were a lot of clothes too,” Tilayan added. “Is it some kind of tradition? His mother just died.”

“Young Rokat girl, there are better words to choose for such news,” Dain figured he’d tell her. “There is a certain respect to show to the deceased…” he said gently and gave her a second chance at explaining the recent situation.

“Poor Glain… Things aren’t going too well for him, are they?” she eventually told, almost as a bait, which Elem took. “Oh, come on, you haven’t figured it out?” she finally got an opportunity to share what she’d witnessed the previous night between Iltarel and Glain and her personal theories about what was going on. She was perceptive enough to be close from the truth, although none could verify it for certain.

Eventually, she figured she’d better return to Keelani and Kilem, leaving Sokal to worry about her talkativeness, and Elem to relate how the assessment hadn’t gone exactly as Nall had hoped it would. As it went, the discussion drifted to a more casual flow. Sokal discreetly inquired about Glain and Elem’s ‘illness’ and quickly figured it was best not to inquire much further when his suspicions of what had happened were confirmed.

“It’s a little unusual for a Notator’s watch to be rejected, but I suppose someone else took good care of you, and… it’s often best not to step on another doctor’s toes,” he played along. “All I could hope for was to see you well again. After all, I still need to introduce you to Lakanet…” he mentioned the snake rather than his parents.

“That already makes me feel better,” she soothed him and then leaned against his shoulder, glancing at the PADD to change the subject to that of learning Kardasi. Sokal was a bit taken aback when she asked for help, but tried to oblige.

“My knowledge about translators is very theoretical but… I believe I read that it’s supposedly possible to make a data transfer into the brain to imprint the linguistic engrams while the implant is online, in order to quicken the learning process. The translator is then turned offline to let the learner go on from the basics and elaborate on their own, but I’m not entirely sure whether the procedure has been tested a lot or not…” he winced a little. “I understand your brain is very resilient but I wouldn’t want to mess with it too much. A fine person like you deserves to be treated well.”

“That sounds an awful lot like cheating to me,” Elem reckoned with a grin, “I like the concept.” It was an interesting combination between engineering and medicine. “Where did you read about this?”

“Oh, I think it was part of the course on aliens, which I had to take to work at the Bureau of Alien Affairs,” he covered up, as he wasn’t sure he should source his uncle Ketis. “The documentation mostly aimed to allow us to differentiate this kind of implants from the sort that should be reported,” he went on about that one time when Sayad found something irregular on a Romulan.

“Digressions aside, if you’re interested in the procedure I mentioned, I’ll have to look it up some more to see that it’s safe,” he returned to topic.

“I know I’ll be safe with you,” she smiled sunnily, “but until then, I suppose we’ll have to do with a more basic method – unless you’d rather go see what Keelani’s doing with all that color? You mentioned you had some experience dyeing fabric – I wouldn’t mind seeing some of that.”

“Why choose when we could do both at the same time? Go get that translator offline and I’ll teach you how to dye like a true Cardassian  _ and _ you’ll get to laugh at my rubbish Federation accent,” he offered, trying not to snicker too much.

Elem decided to accept the challenge, and grabbed the tool from the table, calibrating the beam to disable the translator. It took a little doing, but at the end, she smiled and set the rod back on the table.

“Let’s dye some fabric, shall we?”

“Surcal. Fazzekanet, melúy ir,” he grinned and led the way. “Absolutely. This way, I belief,” he translated, letting Elem correct his pronunciation a bit.

And off they went.

“Ah, zemirake Dain kezú!” Tilayan jolted as Elem entered the room with their guest, glad to see the man was still there – the teen girl already told Keelani that she was quite confident in the idea that the Notator was courting her sister  _ quite successfully _ . Soon the enjoinment, oh, and how would Glain take that if his sister, newly arrived on Cardassia, got enjoined before him?

“Son nimarin isahú zař keppe?” she eagerly and boldly asked if he had come to assist, to which he agreed.

“Elem’i fedeřasiy kúnkarpei siluktait múy duek ikařdasi kúnú siř,” he informed the others of the situation. “And Fedeřasi is practice for us,” he smiled.

Tilayan found his accent funny and Keelani quickly got the Notator to work. The man traded his clothes for an apron, much to the appreciation of the women in the room. A perfect getup to give Elem a lesson on how to dye a pair of pants to keep them ‘long- _ lusting _ ’ – so they could lust for a long time and endure old age. Pants for life.

“And how long have you _ lusted _ , Mister Dain?” Elem couldn’t help but bring up his mistake, ending up in a bubbling laughter. “Ah, Glain’s pants still need to... be made so they can endure his eternal lust, considering he’s not having much luck finding someone to enjoin.”

Dain laughed and came over with the products before changing the water of one of the baths to do everything from scratch.

“Cardassians believe not in luck but in vesala and skill,” he said.

“So it was  _ skill _ that I came to have  _ you _ as a Notator, rather than your colleague?” Elem challenged and edged closer, to watch what was being done in the vat. “I certainly felt lucky... and a bit embarrassed by my physical state.”

Dain shivered at the memory and licked his teeth.

“A fortunate coincidence,” he conceded and started to explain further what he was doing, putting chemicals in the warm water and plunging the cloth in the bath.

He stirred with a rod for a moment before removing the pants temporarily to add the color. Elem mimicked him, and together they got onto the task while discussing.

Dain couldn’t help but comment on the clothes, appreciating their formal but elegant cut and refined textiles – Glain did have a very good taste in fashion, and the Notator had to wonder why he’d wish to take away beautiful colors. Elem explained the situation some more and Dain understood the symbolism better. It wasn’t just the colors Glain chose to sacrifice, it was his own self he was about to discard in favor of fulfilling his father’s wishes. Sokal Dain never had to make such a sacrifice, and sometimes, he felt a little guilty to be so fortunate when others weren’t. It made him relieved to be a bit abnormal, physically, like a trade-off, maybe. Or did he just need a reason to appreciate his body? He was never sure. Elem smiled a little and swirled the cloth around with the wooden stick intended for this usage.

“He has a purpose,” she reckoned in a soft voice, “Maybe it isn’t the purpose he wished for, but it still is a purpose. There’s a comfort in that, isn’t there? You... people of Cardassia, you who grew up here, you must be so very unfamiliar with the concept of meaninglessness. On Trill, where I grew up, society was more... focused on individual success and realization. Children are encouraged to discover their dreams, to make their own path to success. You have to invent your own purpose; it isn’t inherited or offered to you by society. It is a very practical system for a society that doesn’t want to take responsibility in regards to purpose. This way, society owes nothing to the individual, and when the individual fails – be it at something so simple as to have and kindle a dream of a purpose, it’s the individual who takes all the blame. And many people on Trill ‘fail’ to follow their dreams, because they don’t dream as  _ big _ as the system would deem  _ worthy _ ,” he stirred a bit more vigorously.

“My mother wanted me to study law and psychology, and I did, for a time. But it wasn’t what  _ I _ was good at, and so because I had my own purpose to rule as I saw fit, I switched to engineering. I  _ had _ dreams. But they were... unrealistic. Even when I pursued my career and worked for many years, I never once felt important. I never once felt like I had a true purpose. I felt cheated, and why shouldn’t I? My entire life growing up, I had learned about ‘self-realization.’ But self-realization is a poor replacement for purpose, and... I thought coming here would fix that. I thought coming here would remove the glass walls, and that I’d be able to do things that would give me purpose – but I failed to realize I was still chasing the same old concept.” She put the ladle aside and turned to look at Dain with more fasciation. “I was still chasing self-realization. I was still trying to make my own purpose. All this time, what I wanted was still selfish, egocentric at the core. And those are concepts I must shed, or I’ll be without purpose, useless, again. And I can’t live like that. So,” he licked his lower lip, “I do not feel sorry for Glain. He will be happy once he realizes that he was given a purpose, that he’s important. As will I.”

Dain was impressed and appreciative to see her adapting to Cardassian society so fast already. Did it mean she found an occupation yet? he asked. Elem had to keep evasive – some leads, yes, but nothing certain yet.

“You’ve had enough pain in your life without me pulling you through something like that,” she gave an apologetic smile. It was obscure enough that he couldn’t figure what that really meant although he wondered.

“You know…” he observed her as she dipped and twisted the cloth she held, “I like pain, especially with you…” he suggested in a whisper, suddenly quite close.

“Dain...” she warned him, bending over the bath of dye in hope to better ignore what tingles his attitude sent through her neck. Or maybe it was a plea, she wasn’t exactly sure, and the slight fumes from the black pigment  _ did _ make her a bit dizzy, too.

“Inhale chemicals not,” he rinsed his hands in the cold, clear water bath, before pushing her torso to a straighter position. “More like this,” he grinned, way too conscious of the arousal he was awakening. “You have some talent to make me want torturing you… How unfortunate this place and time,” his teasing brought yet another kind of chemistry in the air.

“I- I thought you wanted more time for us to get to know each other,” she argued weakly, trying not to give in already.

“I want so,” Dain agreed. “I can have other wants too, and still delight in seeing you suffer. Now,” he put the wooden rod in her hands, “keep on working and tell me… Tell me how you see your future,” he smiled more softly, giving a more attentionate tone to his presence.

“Mister Dain...” Elem tried to sound more formal, stirring the blackness in a more calm manner, “I see a future of devotion and purpose. I really have nothing else to wish for, and... and I should hope I will have made many friends, and that you’d be amongst the closest.”

“Any plans for how to make it happen…?” he inquired.

“Maybe I should become a prostitute,” Elem said insincerely, because in truth, she hadn’t thought of any plan, “They see a lot of people, don’t they? You... you do have prostitutes, don’t you?”

Dain had a very hard time not snorting in laughter, but his face clearly reflected the obvious fact that he hadn’t expected the answer a second.

“Zai Kel, pimnitep va izař!” he burst out at last, then realized he’d picked the wrong language. “I mean. Such words must away!” he chastised her. “Comfort women would away Rokat’s approving too…”

Elem chuckled a little at the outrage.

“ _ I _ think, Mister Dain, that you’re just upset because you’d be jealous. Oh, not jealous of  _ my customers _ , but jealous that you didn’t get to be one, too,” Elem sniped.

The underline of Dain’s scales got a bit darker as he stared at her. He licked the inside of his teeth and wet his lips, opting to squeeze water out of the pants so he could put them to dry.

“You like what you do?” he asked, glancing at her hands in the water. “I can hire you as my housekeeper. You can serve me. And if you need more men to satisfy you, you can  _ beg _ me,” he sniped back at her, playful still, unless the offer was genuine. “We can play games…”

Her cheeks got quite hot over the edginess of such words in such a place, and as the heat spread to her neck too, she clenched her jaws really hard to be able to continue doing her job, ending with lifting the cloth and carrying it over to rinse it. Every now and then she sent Dain a dark glare, though she knew better than to try and talk to him again: he’d come back with something worse, she was sure of it. Thus, they worked in silence, although a lot could be said from that silence. The way they moved, the way they looked at each other, even the way they breathed communicated more than words would convey. After they hung the clothes and rinsed their arms, he came behind her and set his hands on her hips.

“You did good,” he whispered to her ear. “Zai maitha. Your was-good. You did good.”

“So did you,” she replied in a whisper, wishing she could indulge in his soft torture without the risks of being actually walked in on. “Mister Dain,” she warned him again.

He grinned and waltzed himself around her to look at her.

“You should visit me. You should visit this city with me. There be so many places to discover. If you want to Kardasi learn, you must Kardasi live,” he smiled with enthusiasm.

“Then take me for a stroll,” she laid her hands on his chest, fingers running up his neck and to his ears on their own. “You can tell me the name of things, teach me vocabulary… it would all be very  _ civil _ ,” she grinned and he grinned too.

##  * * *

Glain finally sent his lengthy report to Damar, along with suggestions of user workflow optimization to enhance data storage in the unit, and stretched his legs and arms before getting up to see if his father was in any decent shape.

The door to his study was still locked.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he informed him through the door and went to Keelani’s to see if his clothes were ready.

Tilayan whirled around him, blabbering non-stop about Dain and Elem – and Dain’s scales especially, and how she wished Kilem could grow some like that too. Glain rolled his eyes –  _ puberty _ , he figured.

“How do I look?” he asked instead as he finished to put on the shirt and pants Dain and Elem had died – they came out color of the night, dark with a tint of cyan blue for the shirt, aquamarine for the pants, reminiscent of the former colors.

“Strict, but rather classy, in my opinion,” Tilayan answered. “It’s the collar that does it mostly. It’s much higher than what you usually go for. It makes you look more reserved and mysterious,” she approved. “At least, it’s more sexy than slutty.”

“Well, thank you,” he didn’t fail to catch the underlying criticism.

He glared at her, but she just giggled.

“You should be more thankful,” he warned.

She looked at him more attentively, then understood and hugged him. He caressed her hair, then let go of her and returned to the other house.

“Father, please, open the door,” Glain sighed. “It’s time. I’d rather not override the computer…” He waited a second, then added, “Also, I thought we might need to discuss shortening my working hours at the Bureau of Alien Affairs… if you’d let me spend time at work with you.” He held himself formally, arms crossed in his back. Hopefully, Nall would brighten up and open the door.

But such a thing did not happen.

“I’m drunk,” the old man admitted through the door with a slight slur to his voice, “I’m not representative.”

“Then I’ll be representative for the both of us,” Glain reached the panel next to the door and quickly forced it to open.

He went in and squatted next to his father, and smiled, half-tender, half-smug – the sort of expression that made him look a lot more adult and a bit older than his age.

“Come, let’s get some water in your system before you get sick,” he offered his arm. Nall swatted it.

“I  _ want _ to be sick,” he muttered accusatively, “leave me alone, Glain.”

“Then I’ll take the lead of the family for the time being,” the young man replied. “If you won’t be representative nor in control, I will.”

“If- if I thought I needed someone else to lead this family, I’d call  _ Enjam _ ,” the Conservator muttered the last part with a hiss, then softened a bit. “I miss him,” he realized a bit late, “Maybe we should invite him...”

“Then I’ll call him,” Glain said softly. “I am certain he’ll agree to come. Do you want me to warn him that he’ll find this house more… populated than before? I could arrange to have Elem be absent, so you need not explain her case yet.”

Nall nodded helplessly at the sound advice.

“Do that,” he approved, patting Glain’s arm a bit more robustly. “You’re really growing into someone responsible, Glain, I’m very proud of you,” he made a weak smile then started searching the floor for the cork so he could put the bottle away. At least for the moment being.

“And I will keep on making you very proud,” Glain smiled with more discretion than usual, keeping his expression more proper. “When you are ready to return to work, I wish to go with you. My only request is that you allow me to keep on working at the Bureau of Alien Affairs until my current assignment there is finished,” he grabbed the cork and put it in his father’s hand.

“I’ll... take a week,” the man muttered at last, “That’s what I need. A week.”

Glain approved. He reminded him to drink water and to be careful not to fall, and that he could call for anything at any moment, before leaving him to his world of inebriation.

He returned to his office and checked his looks and attitude before calling his uncle.

Seven years younger than Nall, Glinn Enjam Rokat was an elegant, orderly Cardassian, regal in his armor. By the looks of his nephew, he could easily figure what dire news were to come.

“It’s over, uncle. Mother is gone,” Glain announced solemnly, forbidding himself to show emotion, although the last words came out slightly strangled. He took an inspiration, puffing himself slightly in order to continue. “Father would greatly appreciate your presence here. A ...lot has been going on since my return from Bajor,” he hinted. “Those are times of change for our family.”

“It is good he finally took the decision,” Enjam replied in similar neutrality, caring to be effective and straight to point. “I will inform you of my time of arrival when I get clearance from Gul Meret. You have my sympathies, as does my brother. State’s peace be with you,” he said and ended the transmission.

That was one thing done, Glain thought. He sent his father’s secretary a notification that Nall would take a week off and requested some files, then went back to his mother’s room to check on the incense. He lighted some more and sat by her side for a moment, to make sure that she looked good – he’d decreased the temperature of the room greatly and soon shivered a little. She felt so cold now, and so stiff, like frozen. For a second, he thought no Cardassian should ever feel so cold.

“It’s going to be fine, I promise…” he murmured, caressing her face. He could feel tears flowing up again but he just smiled, holding them back. “It’s going to be very fine,” he repeated and left the house to return to Keelani’s where he sat by the window with his PADD to start sending messages to Liyara’s family and to his friends, to announce the news that his mother had passed away.

It took Iltarel some fifteen minutes after reception of the message to finally ask an awkward, “ _ Are you fine? _ ”

Glain too took time to answer, although it was with a mere yes, to which Iltarel just answered “ _ Good _ ,” with as much delay again.

And then again, later, “ _ Will you be fine? _ ”

The young man thought about it, but as he caught sight of Dain and Elem, he quickly texted back some “ _ I worry more for you than for myself. I hope you could talk to your uncle. Take care _ ,” and got up.

“You two, with me,” he raised his fist and led them to the other house with a military stride and straight composure. “I’m in charge at the moment, so my word is worth my father’s,” he slipped before they entered.

Elem tried to say something, but there wasn’t much of an opening for talk. Glain took them to his office, where he closed the door, scanning them both for any irregularity. Then he smiled a little, though his gaze kept cold and sharp.

“I have a situation to solve, and I believe we can all gain from the solution I imagined,  _ but _ you must promise me to keep tame,” he warned – Elem tried to speak again but he held up his hand. “We will have some family visiting, and you,” he looked at Elem, “cannot stay here. Father is in no shape for quarrels. I could send you to Iltarel, but I believe Notator Dain wanted to perform some scans…” he set his eyes on him, not letting  _ her _ a chance to answer. “Are you in capacity to host her for a night or two?”

“I believe so,” the Notator nodded, slightly unsettled by the sudden situation.

“Good,” Glain grinned, showing a bit of teeth. “Then it’s decided. I believe you’ll both enjoy yourselves…” His grin softened to a more pleasant expression and gentler smile. “Dain, I believe your father is a Ministerial interrogator? If he ever happened to hear of Glinn Reyal’s case… if anything concerning my family or Elem were to be mentioned… I would be  _ enthused _ to hear about it too. I would love nothing better for our families but to grow closer ties,” he looked at them both, cunning but friendly, yet still professional in his attitude. He truly seemed older, now standing with both feet into adulthood.

“I… understand,” Dain nodded. He felt as if Glain’s sudden increase in maturity made him feel younger than the archivist, and he didn’t entirely appreciate it. “I’ll see what I can do. You know that secrecy is part of-”

“-I know a lot of things, Dain,” Glain cut off, “including this one, yes. I am glad we have an agreement and I most sincerely look forward to getting to know you better. In fact, I would like to invite you to dine with us when you’ll return Elem to us. I believe you like fashion; do you like music and theater too?”

“Yes-”

“-Perfect. You’ll love it then, I am certain. It’ll be most uplifting,” he smiled with more amusement and gave Elem a fond look. “Am I right to entrust you to Dain? You seem to rather like him…”

At last, Elem could speak, and chose to address Dain instead.

“What did he say?”

“You be with me to home,” he translated. “Si’kúnkarpeit luktithi,” he finally could shoot at Glain. The young man looked at them both then laughed.

“You’d better get this translator back online,” he chuckled and resumed to a more serious face, briefing Elem again, albeit in English this time.

“And the children?” she asked in the end.

“They are official. Enjam will not appreciate, but he is younger,  _ fortunately _ . I don’t think he will disassociate over this,” Glain assured. “You should go and get what you need to spend two days away. I have a lot to prepare with Keelani, and a lot of work to do.”

For some reason, that stung a little. Elem knew it was stupid to be hurt over such a thing, especially when it was the only logical and viable solution. Still, something in her eyes pricked a little, and it took effort and a stiff smile to force the tingling sensations to go away.

“I understand, I’ll do that,” she agreed and swallowed, then gave Glain a hasty nod as she backed out of the room. “I’ll be with you shortly, wait for me outside,” she told Dain and went to get her translator working, then to pack her things.

“That wasn’t most tactful,” the Notator cared to point to Glain.

“I know, but she must learn. There is no place for feelings at the moment. We aren’t safe yet, we cannot afford to let our guard down,” he admitted. “How much do you like her, Dain?”

The man hesitated.

“More than she does,” he answered truthfully.

“What if she never comes to love you as much as you do?”

“I am not a hateful person, Rokat. I am grateful for all the friendships I am entrusted with, and I honor them.”

Glain smiled as he acknowledged the sentiment.

“Treat her well, then, but beware for your own heart, always,” he kindly held up his hand, half-fisted fingers offered to the other.

“Of course,” Sokal nodded and laid the back of his own fingers against Glain’s, knuckles meeting for a short second, as was proper between family friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	14. II - Enjam's methods

#  Enjam’s methods

Enjam had unwillingly left his duty, not even bothering to slip into civil wear as he went through the city. Not that he was much different than other soldiers on that point – those who were with the military breathed it and lived it. About the only thing that made him different was his choice to stay unenjoined, as if the sole way joining could happen, would be if Gul Meret ordered him to, which he knew he wouldn’t. After three hours of detour (he wanted to pay the monuments a visit to lay flowers at the memorial grounds), Enjam arrived at his parents’ home. He didn’t go for the main door, instead touring around through the small alley that led to the garden, and stood there in contemplation.

Not much had changed there, it still very much was the building where he’d grown up, and if he thought about it really hard, he could almost trick himself into believing his parents still lived there. And, in the event that he’d go upstairs, he wouldn’t even have to try  _ that _ hard, because Nall was an emotional sod and hadn’t managed to get rid of  _ all the stuff _ just yet.

“How long have you been standing there?” Keelani’s voice greeted from somewhere behind him, and he turned to the familiar housekeeper with a rare smile. “You don’t have to ring the bell, this is  _ your _ family home,” she reminded him, re-establishing a grip on the clothes’ basket she held in her arms.

“It is good to see you, Keelani,” his greeting was as warm as it got, genuine but rigid. “I hadn’t even considered going inside yet. I find that the moment just before one opens a door and threads to it, is the moment that holds the most promise.”

“Like the brief moment just  _ before _ you eat the cake, I know,” Keelani agreed, then nodded to the door, “and that is all very pleasant for you, but my arms are hurting and I really need to go fold this laundry and put them in master Rokat’s closet.” Enjam didn’t move, not immediately.

“How… how is he? Nall, I mean. Is it bad?”

Keelani pouted her lips in contemplation.

“He kept her alive for a long time, longer than he should have; I don’t think that made it any easier for him. If I were you, the first thing I’d do once inside, would be to get rid of all the Kanar. I hate to say it, but we both know there’s always a risk that the son takes after the father, and Melekor was-”

“-I understand,” Enjam snipped her off hurriedly, as he didn’t particularly want to stand around simultaneously reliving unpleasant memories, and have his father’s memory insulted. “And what of Glain?”

“You’ll have to talk to your family yourself, Glinn,” Keelani nodded at the door again. “If you’re not going to go in, by all means, step aside. I am old and this basket is heavy, and you’re in the way.”

“No, no, I believe I’m done reminiscing, especially about my father’s habits,” he wavered off a bit and opened the door, stepping in and letting Keelani pass.

It was odd how the scent of a home never completely changed, Enjam mused. He soon found Glain, who’d been waiting for him. Enjam’s expression faltered into something more displeased – it wasn’t that he was displeased at seeing Glain, but rather, at the absence of Nall.

“Uncle, it’s such a pleasure to have you with us,” the youth approached him with a more formal attitude than had been usual for him so far. Clad in darkness, he held himself straight but not entirely stiff, keeping a certain fluidity as he led the both of them further in.

“I’d like to see the body. The undertaker hasn’t come yet, has she?” Enjam declared, although it bothered him that he couldn’t ask this of Nall, as would have been proper.

“This way,” Glain led them. “Father isn’t doing so well so I’m in charge,” he explained discreetly.

The room was still cold and perfumed with incense, but Glain lit a new cone anyway. Liyara rested peaceful on the bed in her sea of pillows and  beautiful fabric – Glain had added more: deep red and purple shades embroidered with shiny golden thread and glass beads. As she wished. It was ...dramatic, Enjam reckoned, quite befitting of her, and Glain had made sure to set everything in way to draw attention away from the shortness of her hair – for all one might know, her hair was simply hidden by the cushions.

“Extravagant,” Enjam commented, trying his best to be without judgement. Finally, he could rest and let his shoulders drop a couple of centimeters. “So she really is gone. You know Glain, there were times when I was certain your father would end up dying first,” he picked a chair and went to sit next to the bed.

He hadn’t had anything against the woman, except perhaps that he was fairly convinced she’d wanted a daughter, and raised Glain more like a girl, which subsequently could explain a lot. Still, she had been Nall’s wife, and the soldier respected her as such.

“Her family, will they be joining us? Your father really needs to get a grip before they do; he’ll disgrace us all otherwise.”

“They will be coming tomorrow, but I really need your help to get him back in shape,” Glain admitted. “He’s still as thin and frail as a taran swirl, and he locked himself up in his study ever since she…” he didn’t finish that sentence. “I’m concerned,” he just said instead.

Enjam took a deep, frustrated breath and got up.

“You will unlock the door, I’ll force him to take a walk with me, and then you’ll instruct Keelani to assist you in getting rid of all alcohol stashed away in this house. I have some favours to call in with city security, but if I can avoid it, I’d rather not throw my own brother in a holding cell.”

He took the lead to his Nall’s office, where he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Brother, if you do not come out, your son will open the door for me. You may as well surrender yourself.”

A hoarse, muffled “ _go away_ ” could be heard from inside, and Enjam made a forceful gesture to the wall panel, “You heard him.”

“I wish I didn’t,” Glain winced. He could practically smell the alcohol in the voice and it hurt.

He quickly got the door open.

“Don’t be too hard with him… He’s not as strong as you are…”

The darkness in there was stark in contrast to the rest of the dwelling, and the stench was unmistakable. Enjam felt nauseated, and it took several seconds for him to spot Nall, who was cramped together in a ball in the right corner at the opposite end of the room. In his arms, he held a bottle of Kanar, and it was entirely empty.

“I can’t take you for a walk when you’re in this state,” Enjam grimaced.

“Good, bec’s I don’t want a walk,” Nall nagged and curled even more vehemently into his corner.

“I am sorry,” Enjam drew his phaser from his hip and directed it at Nall.

The old man’s eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t manage to say anything before Enjam had pressed the trigger and stunned him. Then, he sheathed his weapon and went over to his brother, squatting in front of him to make heads and ends of the mess he was.

“That’s disgusting,” he muttered to himself as he discovered that not only had his brother been drunk, he’d also puked all over his shirt. “Glain!” he shouted in a louder voice, “Please get Keelani to come here, this is something for someone like  _ her _ to take care of. You can return to your status as his son, and let me take over family arrangements while he recovers from his... momentary substance abuse.”

For a second, the young man in the corridor had really thought his uncle had killed his  _ own brother _ . Pale, he called for the housekeeper to come at once, using a louder voice but not straying from the door’s entrance.

“How  _ dared _ \- I should report you for abusive usage of your weapon!” Glain screeched at his uncle. “You can’t just stun someone just because he’s drunk! He just put his own wife out of her misery! You were supposed to support him  _ emotionally! _ Give it to a military to come in and shoot his phaser! I should have known better! I’m calling doctor Kel’Dan!” he fumed, positively incensed as he started to dial his PADD, while Keelani came through the door.

The sight that welcomed her was a shock and she let out a scream, obviously thinking Nall to be dead.

“He’s not  _ only _ drunk,” Enjam forcefully lowered Glain’s PADD.

“ _ Both _ of you,  _ OUT! _ ” Keelani swatted at them until they’d been forced to retreat out of the room while she fussed over Nall, almost crying.

Out in the corridor, Enjam lowered his voice to a careful whisper.

“Perhaps you never got to see Melekor at his worst, but this family has a long-running issue with alcohol, and my brother is no exception. This, our weakness, is a family secret, and I would like to keep it that way,” he straightened up. “No doctors, no city intelligence and no reports, Glain. If you make that call, you will have betrayed not only your father, but your entire legacy – which, I understand you have no issues with, considering how you haven’t yet enjoined, nor made any efforts to uphold the family name.”

“Oh, we’ll talk about  _ that _ topic later, uncle,” Glain still glared daggers at him.

Enjam shrugged and Glain followed him back into the study. Keelani had already managed to take the disgusting shirt off of Nall and tossed the bottle to the side. Tears flowing down her cheeks, she desperately tried to make at least his hair look representable.

“Did you have to shoot him, you absolute barbarian?” she asked in badly contained dismay, “Look at him! Look at your brother!” she glared accusatively at Enjam, who wasn’t touched by the words in the slightest.

“Move aside, woman,” he told her briskly, and left her no choice as he and Glain carried the surprisingly heavy man to his bedroom, followed by Keelani who was too distraught even to nag.

There, they laid him on the bed, and it wasn’t long until the housekeeper shooed them both out of there, more forcefully this time. Enjam was certain that if he’d wanted to pursue her for slapping an official, he could’ve used this moment against her. Not that he cared to do such a thing; she was rather dear to him. The door closed, and left him and Glain in the corridor.

“He’ll feel better once he wakes up, Glain,” Enjam told him like he’d tell a girl, because he figured that it was the only way he’d make himself understood – the young man stood rigid in offense. “Sometimes, people are better off relieved of the burden of consciousness. Your father was in a state where withdrawal from his safe space would’ve been far more traumatic for him than the merciful sedation by his own brother. I love him, I care for him, and he trusts me. Now,” he turned on his heels, “let’s go comb through his room before he recovers.”

 

The exploration was an ordeal of its own and Enjam tried his best to ignore the nauseating knot of fear in his guts which the room induced. The smell, the disorder on the floor, even the angle of the furniture. He chose to look through the shelves near the door first, and the further he got, the paler and shorter of breath he felt. He steeled himself further when he went over to Nall’s desk. He could never understand why his brother insisted on keeping that stupid desk there, considering how many nasty memories they  _ both  _ had of it. He opened a drawer and twitched a bit at the content; an ancient-looking bone ruler. Absently, he rubbed the fingers of his left hand and closed the box again, almost thankful for the conversation Glain started, even though Glain was being a little brat as ever. Enjam could see that his nephew was trying to be more of an adult, which was welcome but didn’t mean he was grown up enough deserve that kind of respect yet – he still had a lot to achieve and prove before that.

Then Glain told something, and it was something Enjam had in no way expected. How long had it been since he last visited? How much had he lost track of what was going on in his own family? Enjam had always been firm in his belief that neither he nor his brother were so misguided as to want adopted children of any sort. That picture shattered when Glain revealed he’d been granted siblings.  _ Adopted _ siblings. Enjam stared at him in shock. There was only one explanation: Nall had gone  _ insane _ , and the Glinn was dead set on having his mental capabilities evaluated, and he wouldn’t hear anything Glain had to say to defend his father.

“It  _ must  _ be established who is head of the family – if your father has lost all his wits, the task must fall on me, and I have to know if this is the case,” he held his hands behind his back and straightened up, looking down at Glain. “ _ You _ are his child. You should be punished for letting him do such a foolish thing. How could you, Glain?”

“If you’re going to act like this and have father’s sanity checked, I think you should have your sight checked because I clearly see further than you do,” Glain talked back to him in the same tone. “You haven’t even seen them and you’re already making up judgement. You don’t even have all the facts in front of you. If that’s how you make strategic decisions, I understand it must be hard to protect Cardassia!” he stabbed.

The sound as Enjam’s open hand struck Glain’s cheek was loud even to him, and he regretted it the moment he’d delivered it.

“Nephew...” he moved and forcefully held the younger Cardassian against his chest, looking into the green eyes where tears were welling up but held back, “I only care for you. You do realize that if he extends his number of children, it might mean that you, his  _ own  _ flesh and blood, might end up abused by your un-siblings; don’t you? It wouldn’t be the first time it happens – adoption is questionable in the first place, but to adopt when you already have a perfectly  _ fine  _ child? He doesn’t appreciate you as he should, and you don’t even realize, because you love him too much. It is my duty as your uncle to make sure he treats you as family should be treated. And I have failed, Glain, but don’t worry, I will right what is wrong,” he promised, ignoring any further protest.

It wasn’t easy everyday, being Cardassian. When members of a same family did love each other but each had their own vision of what was best for the family and for each other, it could be challenging, to say the least. And challenging it was, for the Rokat family.

##  * * *

Enjam sat alone next to his brother’s bed, his face expressionless as he waited for him to wake up. It took its time, and Keelani returned several times already to get the laundry and wash him with a damp cloth, all while seething to herself. She wanted to say many things, but Enjam ignored her to the point where she was offended that he acted like she wasn’t there.

Eventually, he had to shoo the housekeeper off, so he could have some peace for himself and Nall. Once the air settled, it wasn’t long before the man awoke, disorientated and shirtless.

“You made quite a pathetic scene of yourself,” Enjam informed him as he looked around, blinking in confusion.

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” asked Nall, suddenly more awake.

“You wanted me to come, remember?” the Glinn couldn’t help but to smile at the frown that sentence set on his face, “And how fortunate that you did, because we really need to discuss these new children of yours.”

“That is  _ not _ why I called you,” Nall sat up on his arms, glaring pointedly at Enjam, who crossed his arms over his chest.

“ _ Glain _ called me, but you don’t remember that either, do you? You really were quite an awful sight: just like our father – disgraceful, curled up in a corner, dirty and with that deplorable stench of alcohol...”

“Are you done insulting me?” Nall asked as he stubbornly got up from his bed, walked to his cupboards and picked a tunic, which he pulled over his head.

“Brother, I would never insult you. All I do is to observe, and I observe this,” Enjam got to his feet and walked over to his brother, who skipped a bit as he turned around and realized the other was already pretty close, “You’ve convinced Glain to walk your path, but in the same movement, you’ve decided to shoot him in the back, adopting those children, contesting his heritage, splitting  _ our _ family’s resources to the ingrate-”

“-Ah, but that  _ does _ come from someone who never even bothered to have his own children!” Nall argued back, placing two fingers straight at the chest diamond of Enjam’s armor, “And if I don’t misremember, I’m the oldest of the two of us. This is  _ my _ family, and I will extend it as I see fit –” Enjam made a frustrated sound – “If I hadn’t adopted those children,  _ Glain  _ would’ve. He’s  _ just like you! _ ” – The last words dug harder into Enjam’s skin, and he clenched his jaws together – “You’d rather stick your dick in a phaser than reproduce. You have no idea how much of a disappointment it was to father, because you  _ left _ to live your life in space, as far away from the rest of us as possible! And now Glain! And Bajor! And those war orphans! And  _ me! _ And the family name – and  _ you _ .” He stabbed him with his fingers again, growling the last word, as if it was supposed to mean something in particular. It didn’t. At least not to Enjam.

“And  _ me _ , what?” he cocked an eyeridge. “Brother, if you don’t calm down, I might just be the oldest of family at the end of the day.”

“No!”

“Don’t make me shoot you again,” Enjam warned with a hand on his phaser, at which Nall fell silent at once, eyes widening at the same pace as tiredness took over him.

Punctured, he sat on the chair, looking older than ever.

“Oh, brother... she’s  _ gone _ ...” he looked up at Enjam, who looked uncomfortable, which wasn’t the kind of comfort he could use, “I miss her so much. So, so much.”

“Brother...” Enjam sat on the bed and laid a hand on Nall’s knee, “we can still reverse this adoption, if you just tell the authorities you were under emotional stress due to your wife’s condition; we could nullify the contract and have them sent back to wherever you got them from. And Glain’s future, the future of  _ his  _ children,  _ real _ children, will be secured.”

He smiled in encouragement, a smile which disappeared when Nall took his hand and placed it back in his own lap.

“There’s something else you should know,” he admitted in a voice that Enjam wasn’t sure he’d heard him use before.

 

Moments later, Enjam hurried to Nall’s office, where he caught Glain.

“You!” he pointed at him with his entire arm, “You have to talk some sense into your father, before he commits social murder on all of us!”

The young man had only just finished to tidy up the room and started to relax, but while the outburst brought tension back, he acted sweet yet formal, inquiring as to what was the problem although he knew very well what it was. Enjam was all the more outraged over the assumption that his brother left his own son in the dark about his despicable deed.

“Glain, you are as dear to me as any of my own children would be,” Enjam came over to sit in front of the desk, while his nephew sat directly on the furniture. The military’s voice was unusually emotional as he held his nephew’s hands in his own. Painfully, he informed him of what horrible thing Nall had done, and how much of a terrible father he was in his whim to recognize his alien bastard.

“This must not happen, Glain. He’ll be the death of you, your career, the family name. If he does this, I will disassociate. I welcome you to do the same, and join me as a new family instead. I’d take good care of you, I have a fine house in a very nice area near the other military officers. You could come live with me.” Not that he was there most of the time; it was mostly his housekeeper and his five cats.

“My dearest uncle,” Glain held his hands dearly and kissed his fingers, “I love you too, so much. When I first learned of this story, from Father, he asked me to disassociate from him, were the public opinion be poor,” he looked at him seriously and started the tale of how he’d learn the news, decided to go to Terok Nor to meet his sibling and how protective of her he’d grown to be.

But what would become of Glain’s career once their family’s reputation would be ruined? Enjam worried. No matter how much they argued, it was all too clear that their positions would not change.

“In  _ any _ way,  _ wait _ that anything blows up before taking any hasty decision. If really you can’t stand it after you’ve met Elem, then so be it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Reyal would throw the accusation during his trial…” he shrugged. “Always better to disassociate during a trial and pretend you knew nothing… It should make it easier for you to find a woman.”

“Central Command has already integrated me into their match-making program. I’ll probably end up forcibly matched up with some unfortunate thirty-year old who never wanted a man in the first place,” Enjam grunted. “At least then we’ll have  _ that _ in common.”

Glain stopped a moment to look at him fondly again.

“Tell me one thing, Enjam. Do you lust not for women?” he asked.

Enjam got up and looked at Glain with bemusement. Then something akin to shame crossed his face.

“I... don’t like talking about it,” he smiled a little and retrieved his hand. “I lust for many things, Glain – I lust for Cardassia, to serve my role in the army, to fulfill my tasks and meet my deadlines. People, however... I have never experienced what you would name lust, nor do I know what it feels like. I can’t imagine what it must be like, to have such a large part of your life revolve around... around this physical arousal that you refer to. It really must be a source of inefficiency – and then there’s the implication my superiors make all the time, that I can’t truly be devoted to Cardassia, because I do not understand what it is like to have someone to protect. Just because  _ they _ needed that experience to understand devotion and loyalty doesn’t mean everyone does. I am fine as I am. And I do not wish to enjoin.”

“Well, you have us, family; it’s not like you’re without anyone to protect,” Glain smiled.

“And protecting it is what I try to do just now,” muttered the Glinn as he headed for the door.

He imagined he could tell Nall, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn’t change his mind, Enjam might just find a way to remove Elem from State records permanently. That  _ would _ upset the old man, however, and he wasn’t sure how their relation would recover after – but he  _ did _ know that even if a divide were to occur, at least this change would make things better for Glain.

Poor, precious Glain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	15. II - A night in Torr

#  A night in Torr

After a rather long commuting to the Torr sector, Elem and Sokal Dain finally left the transport.

“It’s not very far,” the Notator told, guiding them through the streets. “I believe we shouldn’t be  _ too _ late for dinner after all.”

As they neared the house, an old man greeted him in the street.

“The young Dain! Are you having company for dinner tonight?” he grinned.

“Which of the housekeepers slipped the word?” Sokal grinned back with clenched teeth.

“You’re the interrogator’s son, I let you guess!”

“Another time, Sudran. We’re trying to be punctual,” the young man rejected the offer to play.

“You’re not going to introduce your friend?” Dabrad Sudran tried to follow, eager and rather energetic for his old age.

“Apparently not,” Sokal hurried to unlock the door of his house so he and Elem could enter. “And anyway, I suppose the housekeepers will be talkative as usual. Good evening, neighbor.”

He let out a chuckle as the door close behind him and his guest.

“Dabrad Sudran,” he explained. “He and his wife are retired and have way too much time to occupy. Always beware of old people and their gossips, especially when you share the housekeepers.”

He put Elem’s bag in the entrance’s closet for the time being and led her to the dining room.

The Dains’ house was smaller and felt smaller than the Rokats’. It was a cozy, clean-although-not most-well-maintained sandstone dwelling with cracks in the painted walls. The entrance was a dusty orange color, but other rooms had more daring shades of old pink, dusk purple or asthmatic red. Still, it felt overall comfortable. There were photographs on the walls, some artworks too – some made by children, obviously, others by professional artists. The interior told of a rather orderly family, but not a strict one.

Mikara, a woman reaching her forties, was dressing the table.

“Ah, Sok-  _ Notator Dain _ , you arrive about just in time,” she chimed pleasantly. “Your parents are in the garden with the venerable.”

“You make them sound older than they are,” Sokal snorted. “Thank you, Mikara. I suppose I should introduce my friend, Her Elem Kel, to them,” he nodded to her, which prompted the housekeeper to politely greet the guest too.

Elem had to admit to herself that after a lifetime of going simply by  _ Melekor _ , it felt decidedly awkward to be referred to as ‘ _ Your Kel _ ’, because it made him think of his mother. She might be gone beyond the stars, never to see her son again, but her name still clung to him like a shadow, wicked in the way that it had now turned into his identity, washing away Melekor at first, and now Elem, too. Somehow, it would’ve felt better not to have a surname at all.

Still, she let herself be led to the small garden. There was no grass, only pavement, and the only plants there were potted, standing on small pedestals. However there were lamps and lanterns, as well as a fountain in the back, behind the bench, to provide with a nice atmosphere between the four walls providing privacy from the neighbors.

Two elderly Cardassians were seated on a side of the arched bench – the man was in his mid seventies, the woman in her early eighties, and both were still quite sharp. On the other side were Enar, the interrogator, and Isar, the dentist, both in their late forties. Conveniently, two empty chairs stood in front of the bench. Sokal sighed and, seeing the trap that had been laid there as a test, put a more socially-acceptable distance between the two seats.

“Grandmother,” he addressed the head of the family, “I have the pleasure to bring home a new acquaintance of mine, Her Elem Kel, a friend of the Rokat family,” he introduced her. The woman squinted a little to scrutinize her guest, then nodded at her grandchild.

“The Rokats. You were their guest not so long ago, weren’t you?”

“I was. They were very kind.”

She nodded again and looked at Elem.

“I am Mijal Dain. This is my husband, Ikandar,” she smiled at him fondly and stopped there, forgetting to continue the introductions.

After a short moment, Enar decided to just gesture at the chairs for his son and Elem to sit.

“So, Elem Kel. Would you like to make a confession?”

“Enar!” his wife chastised him. “You’re not at work! Please, forgive my husband, Kel,” she set her eyes on their guest, “I suppose you would rather tell me of any trouble you might have with your teeth?” – Enar chuckled.

“My wife, Isar,” he approved of the jest. “Still, if you have any confession to make, this is the right moment,” he grinned at Elem.

Beside her, Sokal was mildly-embarrassed, mildly-amused.

“You have a wonderful home,” Elem thought to compliment with a shy smile. “The children’s drawings I saw in there, were they made by Dain – I mean, Sokal – when he was little?”

“Some of them,” Isar smiled. “I believe there are some of your creations too,” she teased her husband.

“Mother wouldn’t have it any other way,” he reckoned, and the old woman chuckled at that, proud of her mischief and stubbornness.

“What about you two tell us a little more about how you met?” Ikandar spoke at last.

“I… I was her Notator when she arrived,” Sokal said with an embarrassment that was contagious to Elem.

The pressure of eyes on them suddenly increased significantly. The answer wasn’t satisfying, and so the young ones had to expand on how Elem became acquainted with Glain Rokat on Terok Nor as he came to fetch some orphans and some data, and how Glain became a new colleague of Sokal – that was one friendly painting of Glain, but at least the story was mostly true. As they listened, the men kept their emotions hidden although they held a faint smile. The women were more casual in attitude, curious and interested.

“Why did you grow up on Trill?” Ikandar asked at the end.

“Two questions in one,” Elem pointed, first choosing to answer his mother’s professional reasons for settling on Trill before going onto the reveal. “I’m half-Betazoid. My mother got pregnant during a visit to Cardassia – and left, carrying me. I believe my father never knew,” she twitched a little and looked away, “which is a topic I’m not comfortable with.”

All parents straightened up at that, like they’d been splashed with icy water in the back. Sokal cleared his throat.

“Betazoids have fascinating abilities that appear to be compatible with our gene pool, and I have recommended Kel for an interview with Doctor Crell Moset,” he told. “As an expert in exobiology, I have no doubt his opinions will be most interesting.”

“What abilities?” Mijal asked with interest and suspicion.

“Telepathy and the power to feel the emotions of others or make them feel some emotions,” Sokal answered and looked at the men. “Imagine how interesting those last two ones would be in an interrogation chamber…”

“We don’t need special abilities to do that,” Ikandar dismissed.

“Maybe because some of us already have them,” Enar tapped his chin thoughtfully, pale blue eyes not wavering from Elem. “Do  _ you _ have abilities, Kel?”

“Yes, but I use medicine to suppress them. I’m an  _ engineer _ ,” she went on explaining how inconvenient those abilities could be. “But yes, I have observed that  _ certain _ Cardassians seem to have empathic abilities. And those tend to be in advantaging positions. I don’t believe this to be a coincidence.” Or at least, for Garak, he’d  _ used _ to be in an advantageous position.

“Interesting…” Enar smiled.

“More importantly,” Isar cut off, “are your teeth any different?”

“Mother, that is a very personal question,” Sokal pointed like he could barely believe she’d asked that.

“No more personal than what powers she has in her ...brain, I suppose?” the woman argued.

“Shh, you two,” Mijal waved her hand. “What sort of engineer? Do you program?” she brought forth her own interests.

“I’m a ship’s engineer, so I’m most proficient in hardware, but I’ve taken encryption classes, and I know how to work my way around barriers meant to keep me out. Not that I’d attempt any such,” he ensured them rather quickly, “but Trillian computers often have an attitude. Accidentally locking data in happens  _ a lot.  _ And when it does, it’s handy to know how to override.”

“Oh, really?” Mijal’s eyes brightened. “Sokal should have started there! Encryption is a most valuable skill, and I would be very interested to hear more about those Trillian systems,” she grinned, and everybody around her looked away in slight dismay, until Isar spotted Mikara.

“Is dinner ready?” she asked with hope.

“Absolutely,” the housekeeper answered, conscious to be saving everybody from a conversation they didn’t really wish to listen to.

And so all moved back inside to sit around the table. Elem ended up between Sokal and Mijal, and facing Enar, who sat with his wife to his right and his father to his left. They were served a salad of raw fish and shrimps with some sort of diced, blue vegetable or fruit that could be reminiscent of avocado. It was somewhat fatty, cold, and sprinkled with something slightly acid and spicy. Elem could appreciate the change from the more heavy food Keelani favored, and the taste had her complete approval.

“So, are you enjoying your stay with the Rokats?” Ikandar asked.

“Yes, they are very generous people,” she answered in honesty and picked a shrimp with her chopsticks. “I’m grateful that you’re having me at such a short notice, too. It is better to let those who grieve do so undisturbed.”

“Grieve?” Mijal repeated, “Oh… It was about time… poor Nall Rokat, and his poor son too…” she sympathized.

Enar echoed her with a hum. “And what of the young Rokat? I hear we should see him testifying in a trial soon,” he continued his inquisition.

Elem managed flattery and answer, maneuvering around the questions by sharing word that Glain might soon follow in his father’s tracks to grant the old man’s wish for a heir.

“At any rate, I personally hope that it will be easier for Glain to move on and forward, now that his mother is finally released,” he paused and considered that perhaps it was the same to him – his mother, too, had gone. Of course, neither him nor her were dead, but they may as well be to each other.

Suddenly, Elem felt so lonely: here she was, in the house of strangers, because her real family mustn’t know of her existence, even less so confirm it. It was so obvious that in Cardassia, without a family, you’d be lost so very soon.

“Are you as concerned for Sokal?” Enar smiled empathetically, “He is, as you said, one of the first Cardassian citizens you’ve met here. And here you are now, sitting with his family. Is it mere convenience, or do you have a more specific appreciation for him?”

Sokal stared down his plate, embarrassed to the bone, but also curious to hear the answer. It may hurt a little, he knew.

“I do not see a need to worry for young Sokal Dain the same way I do for Glain Rokat,” Elem answered and explained: “Sokal has found his place in society, and it has been my understanding that it is to his elders’ liking,” he cleared his throat a bit, “and I am happy for him. I believe the approval of one’s family is as much a reward as usefulness in itself. I’ve decided that I would like to get to know him better.”

Enar was slightly amused, but also sorry for his son. Isar’s feelings were a little more blatant. She looked at Sokal who was trying not to blush, then at Elem again.

“Well, that’s interesting,” she acknowledged. “So, you two have been seeing each other, I gather? I’d  _ love _ to know more about this.”

“I simply accepted to go on little walks to visit some places, and we tried to improve her Kardasi and my Federation language,” Sokal explained cooly. “It was nothing out of order, really.”

“No lies at the table,” Ikandar glared at him, causing him to shrink a little. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing and seeing. You’re a  _ Notator _ , Sokal. With all due respect to Kel, she doesn’t have any status, does she?”

“There are rumors,” Enar mentioned. “But rumors could be squander… although, I must admit the pattern is exceptionally favorable to truth this time,” he squinted at Elem. “Kel is your mother’s name, I believe? DNA testing at your arrival hasn’t revealed any ties to ...anyone?”

“Why don’t you ask your son?” Elem tried not to snap after Ikandar’s cold comment. “He’s the one who would’ve run such DNA tests. Not that I see how it would make any difference; no self-respecting family would accept me into their midst. I’m a halfbreed,” she cared to remind him, “and a bastard. I didn’t come to Cardassia expecting to be part of a family, I came here to serve  _ a purpose _ .”

“Bearing children is a purpose,” Enar pointed. “You may be a halfbreed, but if your genetics are interesting, you may still be fit to enjoin. At least, your hybridation doesn’t show at all,” he appreciated. “I can’t ask my son any detail, of course, not without a mandate. But there will be a mandate, I am quite certain,” he opted to slip. “A pity… but I suppose it’s always for the best.”

“You sentimental fool,” Isar grinned at him. Mijal echoed her with a nod.

“What do Betazoids even look like? They must have very weak genes for you to look so decent,” she complimented Elem. “Although your hair is quite short. Are they one of those bald races?”

“No!” Elem burst, mostly horrified because she’d imagined her mother without hair, and wished she could undo that particular idea, “No. I just always had my hair like this; it’s very practical and neat. Betazoids are a rather feminine species. It’s a matriarchy,” he explained, “they usually have long hair. They don’t have scales like Cardassians do, but they do have dark eyes, like mine.”

“See, practical and neat,” Mijal repeated, almost accusing the present males with that statement. “Males,” she humphed, “they don’t realize how much of a hassle it is to have long hair and care for it. All  _ they _ have to do is to cut it regularly and comb it back. But  _ us _ , not only we have to grow it and lose absurd amounts of time grooming it, but we are also encouraged to dress it in all sorts of complex manners. It can be entertaining at times, and elegant, I reckon, but there are limits. I can very well imagine how shorter hair like yours would be a lot more practical on a ship. You wouldn’t want it to get caught in anything…” she smiled more warmly. “Smart,” she approved.

Elem frowned, though.

“You mean I’ll have to let my hair grow, too?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Isar glared at her son with surprise.

“I… thought you knew…” Sokal admitted. “Of course, engineers are allowed to have shorter hair, and to dress it more tightly so it doesn’t get in the way…”

“How was I supposed to know?” Elem’s shoulders sunk a bit. “It’s not like the rest of the world have laws for those kind of things. People just... do whatever they want with their hair, and I personally never cared much for it. I’m pretty sure I’d look awkward and dumb in longer hair.”

“The nerve,” Ikandar muttered. “It isn’t for you to discuss. If you wish to look good in longer hair, you’ll go to a formalist to give you advice, but either way, you must do your utmost to conform to the norm, for the sake of our society. Isn’t it simpler and more reassuring to be able to look at someone and know exactly how to address them?” – Mijal snorted.

“That’s easy for you to say because you don’t have to let it grow.”

“Keeping it short is a lot of maintenance!” the grandfather insisted, which only caused the women to burst in laughter.

“I wouldn’t mind being allowed to grow my hair longer,” Sokal said. “Not as long as a woman’s, but I am certain a man can look wonderful and impressive in longer hair, as does a woman in shorter hair,” he smiled at Elem.

“I’m sure you’d be very dashing in it,” Elem reassured him, while keeping to her food as much as possible. “I’m just worried I won’t feel like myself anymore, is all. Hair is... an integral part of identity, where I come from. You might be able to see that I’m coded as a woman from far away, but would you instantly know it’s me?” she challenged Ikandar, knowing already that she’d lose.

“Federation species hold way too much value in individualism,” the elder replied. “Why should it even matter to recognize you from afar? We don’t need to be different. This would only allow for more sub-groups to appear, and they would inevitably start to rival with each other, bringing discord and chaos to our peaceful and loving society. Excentricities belong in fashion shows,” he set his eyes on Sokal.

Not wishing for the conversation to slip down that slope, Enar smiled at Elem.

“I suppose Cardassia must feel very different from the world you used to live in. Do you think you will adapt here? At least, you seem to enjoy the food,” he pointed gladly, holding up his chopsticks before driving food to his mouth.

She served herself another bite of food, as an agreement to Enar’s comment but returned to the more dangerous topic. On some level, she was enjoying herself in a new way she hadn’t entirely experienced before.

“That’s quite a slippery slope you’ve got there,” she pointed out to Ikandar, “if a simple change in hairstyle is all it takes to throw Cardassia off of her feet, then you must really think her weak. And that is insulting.”

“But  _ indeed _ ,” Ikandar gave her a haughty look, “she  _ is _ weak, and it is why she must be protected. A nation is an infant that must be nurtured and cared for in order to keep strong. It is because we maintain strict laws that we are so strong. It is a test of devotion.”

“And most practical to get rid of anyone,” Mijal beamed. “There’s always something to pin on someone.”

“Sarcasm, I hear?” her husband looked at her with disapproval.

She snickered and turned to Elem, to whisper, “Representation was always a little too important to him.”

“Then I guess we have that in common,” Elem reckoned to Mijal’s point, a bit amused at the paradox as she got back to her food. It wasn’t until she looked up that she realized Enar was still waiting for the answer to his own question – would she adapt to Cardassia? Swiftly, she swallowed her mouthful.

“I’ll go where I have to go, do what I have to do. Where I came from, I served as a public transport engineer and I had to wear a ridiculous headwear so not to offend my Bajoran customers,” she smirked. “I’ve compromised before. I won’t enjoy it, but I’ll do it.”

“I’m glad to hear that you are willing to embrace Cardassia,” Enar smiled. “Are you fertile as a woman?”

“Father!” Sokal choked at the sudden question.

Elem was too quick to swallow to actually choke on her food, but instead she broke down in a laughter aggravated to tears by her friend’s embarrassment.

“Supposedly, yes,” she croaked as she found a napkin to mop her eyes with, “but I’ll have to stop medicating with testosterone first, and get surgery, before any of that is very relevant – you are rather shameless to ask such a question, at dinner no less. Or perhaps, that’s just a clash between Cardassian manners and, ah, the manners I grew up with.”

“Were you to have a higher status, it would indeed be very shameless,” Enar explained with smug amusement, “but so far, you don’t, so it’s an opportunity to seize.”

“Excuse you?” his wife seemingly didn’t share the same opinion. “It’s barely a matter of status. You’re just incapable of stopping to be an interrogator for a second.”

“I warned you a long time ago,” Mijal said, then bent forth a bit to look at her grandson. “I am  _ so _ glad you became a Notator, Sokal,” she cooed fondly. “I miss Ketis, but I don’t miss having three interrogators at home, it was getting to be too much.”

“How did you decide you wanted to be a Notator?” Elem gratefully seized the chance to deflect the conversation away from her  _ status _ – or the lack of it, rather.

“It seemed very natural,” Sokal obliged gladly. “Father let me sit in the interrogation chair at work, to let me know what it felt like-”

“-I didn’t know of that,” Isar looked at her husband.

“You had him in a similar position many a time in you dental cabinet,” Enar replied. “I, at least, didn’t torture him.”

Sokal laughed heartily.

“I suppose there are just so many resemblances between our three jobs. It was what drove me first, as a child, but as I studied medicine, I grew even more fascination for our bodies and all the strange things that can happen to them. In the end, everything either has an explanation or will have an explanation in the future. It’s quite reassuring to know so many things, and quite pleasant to hold this power, although the responsibilities can be very heavy at times. At least, I strive to do my absolute best to serve Cardassia and her people.”

“And you do it so well,” Mijal smiled. “And you, Kel? Do you have plans? Do you want to have children soon?” she asked. “There is nothing more wonderful than to hold a newborn in your arms and see this little bit of you grow day after day…”

“My understanding of Cardassian society is sadly undereducated,” she began to admit with a small smile. “If I didn’t know about such a simple thing as hair in regards to dress code, you can only imagine how poorly informed I have been and otherwise still am. You see, my mother wasn’t exactly enthused about Cardassia, but she was enthused about me, so naturally she did all that was in her power to keep me. Away from Cardassia, that is,” she finished and sipped from her glass. “I never knew family played such an important role in your society. When I applied to become a citizen, my prime goal was to find a way to contribute to engineering. That was before I knew I’d be sorted as woman, and what that entails in reality. I  _ was _ hoping to serve the military as an engineer: it  _ is _ what I studied for on Trill, after I abandoned my studies in psychology and law,” she waved her hand dismissively, “but now that I’m here, I’ve been provided with an entirely different set of options, and I’m afraid I have to admit, even if it might make me lesser in your eyes, that I actually have no idea what I’m doing.” She looked down at her plate with a slight degree of genuine shame.

Mijal nodded thoughtfully.

“It is understandable. It must be a drastic change, but I am certain you will fit in well in just a few years; it’s all a matter of immersion and a dosage of personal effort. And if you have come all the way here, I have no doubt in your willingness to make efforts. After all, you must have gone through  _ a lot _ to tear yourself away from the sharp claws of the Federation,” she said with slight admiration. “It must have been a severe defeat for them to lose you.”

Elem smiled a bit sadly at that.

“I don’t think they cared all that much, if I should be entirely honest,” she said, going over her failure of getting any meaningful position despite having graduated top of her class.

“You did good to move here. We never have too many brains,” Mijal gently tapped the edge of the table, then bent forth again. “Sokal, you are awfully silent. Have you already told her how talented you are with children?”

“Grandmother, I cared for the young Tilayan Rokat myself,” he answered. “She was certainly quite pleased with my treatment and easy around me.” He looked at Elem and blushed a little. “What my grandmother is trying to say is that she wishes she would have more grandchildren.”

“Did Ketis really have to move out?” she lamented. “I was against it. Your son!” she accused Ikandar, “Your brother!” she accused Enar, “And you did nothing to hold him back!”

“There was nothing to do, mother,” Enar tried to appease. “It’s better this way for everybody, and we can still invite him over.”

“I know, but I don’t like it. And the children… they grow too fast…” Mijal said miserably. “Vikaran and Sidris,” she told Elem, “they are so beautiful and so full of talent. I taught them basics in programmation when they were just toddlers. They have such wonderful dispositions…” She sighed. “A pity, almost…”

“You start teaching your children that early?” Elem asked, baffled, “I don’t think I even remember being a toddler.”

“Of course we do,” Isar replied with surprise. “Isn’t it normal? Babies are made to learn: there is no better moment to teach them a lot of fundamental skills such as language, mathematics and physics. And memory of course. Sokal was so talented with memory games, like his father.”

“He was also talented at drawing. He will most certainly show you the wonderful fresque he painted in the corridor at age five,” Enar smirked.

“Oh, no, please…” Sokal let out a suffering sound. “Can’t we just repaint it once and for all?”

“Not before I die,” Mijal forbade and Elem chuckled a bit.

“Oh, but I’d love to see that! I never had much talent for art,” she freely admitted, “My only artistic skills lays in singing, and I don’t imagine Trillian music is much like Cardassian music, so who knows, maybe I’m not even good at it,” she shrugged. “Still, I have an  _ appreciation _ for art, and that is something else, I believe.”

“I would like to hear Trillian songs,” Enar said. “You should entertain us with one or two after dinner. Even if it’s alien, if it’s a talent you have, you should show us. You’ll have plenty of time now to learn about Cardassian art and grow an appreciation for it, I hope.”

“Then I will delight you by meeting your request, though I do so in hope that you’ll indulge me in a bit of singing yourself,” Elem slid the request in there with a small pinch of amusement.

Enar looked at his wife but she laughed.

“You got yourself into this on your own, shamar.”

“It wouldn’t be representa-”

“-Oh, yes, it would be very representative ...of your capabilities to sing. Or are you afraid to show your beautiful voice?” she grinned.

He looked at his father, who stared at his plate in hope to be left out of this, and at his mother, as to ask why she hadn’t intruded to save him yet.

“Enar, sweetscale, if your hide cannot survive this ordeal, what can it endure?”

“Fine,” Enar straightened up but looked at Sokal, “but you’ll sing too.  _ You _ brought her here. You’ll entertain your guest.”

The young man clearly didn’t approve, but there was no way to argue out of this dead end. Not with his father at least.

“Are you certain you want to hear this?” he asked Elem. “I’m afraid this wouldn’t be a proper introduction to Cardassian music, really… We can dance quite well, but my mother is a lot better at singing. I’m afraid this gene wasn’t passed on me…”

“I’m very certain,” Elem grinned with delight. “At least I’m not in a position to judge you; I wouldn’t know what it’s  _ supposed _ to sound like, anyway. My ears and mind are open.”

“I could sing a song to give you a better idea,” Isar proposed.

“You’ll sing  _ after _ ,” Enar glared at her.

“I think your performance will be best-enjoyed if I sing first,” she argued.

“I disagree, I strongly  _ disagree _ .”

“Then why don’t we let our guest decide?” she looked at Elem, smiling and pointing at herself as an encouragement to choose her option.

Enar just stared at Elem with the cold blue eyes of a killer.

“I’ll... have to say, let Enar sing first,” Elem chose with uncertainty.

The man appreciated. Isar sighed that it was unfair – she stood no chance against her interrogator of a husband, but she made it clear that she’d get her revenge  _ later _ . The interrogator chuckled and let his wife take the lead of the discussion, explaining to Elem what genres of music were popular in Cardassia, and how lyrics were important in songs. Some genres of music were rather elitist in that they were more alike to a competition to layer many possible interpretations into the lyrics by using words that referenced other songs, to the point one had to practically be a musical historian to understand what the song was actually about, which was borderline illegal.

“I personally don’t like that. A bit of simplicity really doesn’t hurt at times. I like happy, joyful songs that make people feel good about themselves and Cardassia, and popular musical plays,” she told. “You like them too, Sokal, don’t you?”

“Very much so,” he agreed. “Some of our actors are also amazing singers, and it’s fabulous to see the costumes. They can be so creative at times!” – Isar smiled tenderly at that mention.

“Maybe you should volunteer to producers someday…” She sighed at his disagreement and went back onto the topic of music, telling of the more relaxing tunes she usually played in her cabinet: “I usually enjoy more traditional tunes, with a deep bass line that vibrates inside the body like a humming engine, and a happy melody using sampled computer sounds. It’s very relaxing.”

Elem however decided not to talk too extensively of  _ her _ favourite music, and she simply settled on telling that Trill had its fair share of societal criticism channeled through its music, but that it was allowed due to the fact that it ended up making no difference at all, anyway. Then she went on to speak of the kind of music she’d practiced herself: choir practice, breathing exercises, articulation and pronunciation specifics. At last the subject ran out of words and became as empty as the plates, which were her cue to get up.

“I have to warm up, first,” she excused herself, then did a couple of ladder practices before taking a deep breath. She’d settled on something calm and discrete, a slow rhythm.

 

“ _ In the deep dark night, _

_ The moonlit waters glimmer. _

_ Silver skin on blackest depth,  _

_ Beneath the light it lingers. _

 

“ _ Where it goes to stay, _

_ The hungry ocean despairs. _

_ Silver words on golden tongue, _

_ Between the words it whispers. _

 

“ _ I found you there; _

_ A forlorn story never told, _

_ A wakeless poetry under heavy pages, _

_ And although liquid once, _

_ Cracked and twisted, _

_ Your ink was dry as blood, _

_ Drawn long ago, _

_ By claws that meant to slay you. _ ”

 

The family listened to the music of the song more than the words, maybe, as the song came out untranslated and the language wasn’t anything either of them had ever heard. Still, the performance was enjoyable enough that all drummed their knuckles on the edge of the table in the end (although Ikandar waited a little and kept very moderate).

“It was very beautiful,” Isar appreciated, “but it sounded quite sad, didn’t it? What was it about?”

“That’s still under debate back on the Trill homeworld,” Elem reckoned as she sat back down in her chair. “Some say not to read into it, that it’s likely a song mourning a story that never got published, as the man who wrote the song had a good friend who spent all of his life writing, but died tragically before he could finish his manuscript. Others, however, argue that the song itself predates the author, that he simply wrote down songs so to preserve them, and that this one is a sonata pertaining to some... folklore story, probably either about love or monsters. It’s rather cryptic – most songs I’ve been singing were very old and very cryptic, and almost all of them taken out of their original context. It’s liberating in a way, it gives the listener the opportunity to draw their own conclusions and make their own interpretation, creating new thoughts and fantasies out of old material. It’s sweet.”

“How strange!” the woman couldn’t help her surprise. “We would never do any such things here on Cardassia. If something is old and we can’t make out the original sense of it, it’s probably not worth remembering, so we delete it. It gives more room to novelty and fresh, modern inspiration, free from obscure antics. We see no need to let our past get in the way of a brighter future,” she flashed her white teeth with joy in her smile.

The lack of obscurity and thought-provoking mystery was a bit of a surprise to Elem – she’d somehow expected they’d keep some sort of fascination for such things: such things  _ were _ puzzles, after all. She didn’t comment however, letting Isar continue:

“We are very progressive. I have no doubt you’ll love the freedom we have here when it comes to art.”

Sokal snickered in approval although he stroked Elem’s foot under the table. 

“Mother is very enthusiastic about art,” he said gently.

“I have all the reasons to!” she agreed happily, then frowned. “Oh, well, except when it comes to the two of you singing,” she sighed at her husband and her son. “I  _ tried _ to teach them a little more, but I suppose they just don’t have it.”

“I’m sure they appreciated your effort,” Elem chose the diplomatic road, “and I’d like to hear the result myself. Sokal told me of his tailoring adventures, but nothing yet about his singer’s  _ mis _ adventures. And I think that sometimes, misadventures are more  _ fun _ to hear of,” she flashed a bit of a grin.

“True that! Enough talking, more singing,” Isar cut short.

Enar took a deep breath: “For Cardassia.”

He got up, and Sokal joined him so they could decide which song to pick, when to start and on which pitch. That done, they turned to the table, side by side, and started to clap their feet on the floor in rhythm, stepping left, forth, right, and back to position each time. They started to clap their hands as well, and soon desynchronized to grow the rhythmics into something richer. Then Enar tried to emit a sound, quickly interrupting himself and shaking his head. Three times he did it, causing his mother to laugh. Sokal did his best not to snicker himself. At last, Enar managed to go on.

 

“ _ The sun rises again, _

_ It’s another victory for me, _

_ I live, I breathe and I sing, _

_ Cardassia! Cardassia! _ ”

 

“ _ Cardassia! Cardassia!, _ ” Sokal sang along (causing his father to change pitch in at the second stanza).

 

“ _ It’s a new day, it’s a new opportunity! _

_ There’s no day like today, _

_ There’s no sight like tomorrow, _

_ There’s no regret to hold me back! _

 

_ Because this is our life, _

_ This is our way of life, _

_ And together we live, _

_ Together we breathe and sing, _

_ Cardassia! Cardassia! _

_ Cardassia! Cardassia! _ ”

 

As the song turned into a dialog, Enar took up the first liners and Sokal the replies, both of them quite discording as neither of them could keep neither on pitch nor in tune – although their bodies, at least, kept in good rhythm.

 

“ _ And we are never sad and never down, _

_ We always have it going on! _

_ And we are never afraid because, _

_ The military protects us at all times! _

 

_ We love our own, we love the State, _

_ For we love only what is best, _

_ And we strive for what is right, _

_ For great justice and Cardassia! _

 

_ Because this is our life, _

_ This is our way of life, _

_ And together we live, _

_ Together we breathe and sing, _

 

_ Cardassia! Cardassia! _

_ Cardassia! Cardassia! _ ”

 

By the end, Mijal was practically crying from laughter while Isar and Ikandar tried not to laugh too much, resulting in muffled snorting.

“That was  _ atrocious _ ,” Elem appreciated with a wide grin that seemed to say the exact opposite, “The rhythm was perfect, however.” He couldn’t help but to wonder if the singing hadn’t been better if they’d just focused on that instead of flailing around, though that would’ve removed the feet claps from the music, and he was pretty sure it was supposed to come along with it. “It’s a pretty cute song.”

“It’s a good song for uniting people, and we love unity,” Enar replied, tying his hands behind his back in a formal attitude. “Son,” he addressed Sokal, “since Kel is your guest, would you mind to show her the room where she can stay? I suppose she would appreciate to see it. Meanwhile, we’ll set back in the garden until dessert is ready and your mother is done being outraged and ready to sing.”

“Certainly so,” the young man nodded and waited for Elem to get up so he could take the both of them back to the entrance to pick her bag, and then to the bedroom where she was to stay.

 

It was small, cozy, with a low ceiling, scarce furniture and a small window. A mirror, two paintings, a sculpture for decoration, pretty lamps and clean bedsheets.

“I hope you like it,” Sokal murmured and laid his hands on Elem’s hips. “Else… my room is next door. Maybe I should show it to you? You wanted to see my snake, didn’t you?” he grinned against her ear.

Elem closed her eyes at the shiver that ran down her spine, then turned around while still maintaining the physical closeness, lifting her hands to lay them over his chest as she looked into his eyes. The clear blue-green irises were eaten by darkness, but there was so much to read in them. She was rather certain that her pitch black eyes weren’t much to look into.

“I’ve always envied people with colorful eyes like yours,” she admitted how she felt shut away by the complete blackness of her Betazoid eyes.

“Elem,” he placed a hand down her spine and the other at the back of her head so she couldn’t escape when he kissed her, tenderly at first, then more fondly, “I… like your eyes,” he moaned. “I like the secrecy in them, the darkness…” he grinned and licked his pointier teeth, taking just enough distance to look at her eyes. “But if you do wish for more colourful eyes, it can be arranged too,” he laid a softer peck on her lips. “You are beautiful either way ...mesmerizing…”

She had to wonder if her mother and Nall too had mesmerized  each other with kisses and sweet, indecent words of secrecy and darkness, but she washed the idea away from her.

“I’m going to change a lot already, I’m not sure I’d recognize myself without my eyes,” she admitted. “I’m a bit scared. Even if... if most of what I will go through isn’t a change, but rather a restoration, it’s... still going to turn me into someone. What if I’m not that person? What if I won’t be happy? I came here because... I was so sure Cardassia would be the only place where I could find any sort of happiness. What if I’m wrong? What if there’s no place for me at all?”

“I’ll make a place for you if I must,” Sokal promised. “I want to make you happy, I want to give you everything you’ll allow me to, including love. I’m your Notator… I’ll go slow… One thing after another,” he caressed her hair too. “The only thing that matters right now is your health. I want to see you well. It will take surgery to allow your organs to function normally, but it probably won’t change who you are,” his smile tightened a bit. “I can’t predict how you’ll feel, especially with the change of hormones – it  _ might _ make you feel more feminine, it might even make you want for your body to be more feminine as well… but that’s not a given. We’ll just have to go slow, and talk, I suppose,” he tried to sound reassuring. “I will be there, Elem.”

She sighed and just folded her arms around Dain’s waist, leaning her head against his shoulder. His scent was different from that of Garak, and that of Glain. More musky somehow, spicy in an odd way, yet the texture of the scent was soft and easy to breathe.

“What if you won’t like me anymore?” she realized eventually. “I might change in ways you didn’t predict, I could become something... very different.” She thought of Garak in an instant, wondering what he’d think of her too. Not that it mattered; she was better off keeping a respectful distance to him – still, it was too early to cut those ties. If she tried now, they’d only become stronger and more unfortunate. “You like me as I am now, don’t you?” 

“You won’t become someone else entirely just because of this. It’ll be more like… expressing a different part of you, and exploring it as well. I don’t think I’ll love this person any less than I love you,” he nuzzled her nose.

Elem smiled and nuzzled him back, thinking of when they’d met in the park. How she’d watched him from far away, how proper he’d seemed. How the sunlight had glimmered in his hair just so – the Cardassian sunlight was so unalike that of Trill, so much softer, so much warmer, darker, richer. And yet, in Sokal Dain’s hair, it had graced blackness with diamonds and amber beauty.

“I want to get a chance to fall in love with you,” she kept on holding him, her eyes closed, “to know your strengths, your potential, the protection you could bring. And your weaknesses, your incapabilities, the protection you  _ need _ . The protection I could provide.”

She smiled and thought of the Obsidian Order. Of her future, the one that laid within that organisation. How she was now one of  _ them _ , and yet felt more alien to them than she ever had. Was this truly what it felt like, to be part of the Order? She felt no different at all, except perhaps for the soft sorrow that laced her every breath with weight. As she faced the knowledge of what she’d do for them, she had to remind herself of her own dreams.

“I only wish to serve, to have a purpose, know that what I do is... important.” 

“This is all I could ever want,” Sokal murmured gratefully.

Silence settled peacefully between them and Elem lost herself to the caresses she spread over his back, holding him as if he was the one who was vulnerable and frightened. Was it right of her to pursue this which was between them? With all the obligations that were to come, did she have any rights at all? And what would happen to  _ their _ future children? Those were not only  _ her _ children for the Order to lay claim on: they would also be Sokal Dain’s children. Children that were his, his family’s.

“If your father is an interrogator,” she finally mumbled only loud enough that Sokal, not the walls, would hear, “Does this mean he occasionally works with or for the Obsidian Order?”

“Such things aren’t ...unusual,” he answered the unexpected question. “It’s no secret. The Ministry of Justice has necessary ties with them. Why?”

“Personal prejudice,” Elem answered, perhaps a little bit too quickly. “You see, from the moment I learned of the Obsidian Order, I got the impression that they were the  _ only ones _ allowed to interrogate citizens,” she explained as cover up.

“And… do you also have some ...personal prejudice against people related to people who work with them…?” he still tried to figure out how this connected to the current situation.

“I’m still trying to figure out what family status is all about,” she kissed his cheek reassuringly. “Your father works for justice, just like Nall does, yet he lives so far away from the prestigious areas of the Rokat family, and the divide doesn’t entirely make sense to me. I suppose I’m just being uninformed and asking questions at the wrong moments, I didn’t mean to confuse you...”

“Oh, I see,” he decided to go with the explanation that  _ of course, Elem was a foreigner _ . He cleared his throat and led her out the door to his bedroom while talking:

“Ministerial interrogators have a rather peculiar status. They may work for the Ministry and count as bureaucrats, such as I or His Rokat, but they  _ used _ to be more attached to the military, and still are, in a way. It’s a strange status, and it keeps on changing regularly in order to avoid corruption,” he told. “At work, my father wears a military uniform, and I must say he looks quite impressive in it,” he stopped in front of his door. “Either way, civil right interrogators like him usually prefer to live in Torr to be closer to the people, know what’s popular… It’s convenient for their work,” he gestured and opened the door.

His bedroom was larger, although most of the space was locked behind a forcefield and surrounded by a small wall forming a pool complete with plants and a fountain. It was where Sokal’s pets were living, in a small artificial jungle. There were various species of lizards, snakes, salamanders and fish. The rest of the bedroom was more casual, although the young man did have a collection of dental clamps framed on the sinful red wall above his bed, and anatomy posters on the cream white wall next to the computer. Some photographs sat on one of the nightstands found on either sides of the bed. In the corner right to the door, above the desk on which Sokal seemingly designed clothes, was another frame containing a collection of old-fashioned sewing tools and a patchwork of the Cardassian emblem illuminated by the lamp behind. Overall, it was a lot less strict and a lot more casual than Elem had expected.

“You’ve let your personality bloom here,” she reckoned as she went inside and looked around with wonder. It was almost like stepping  _ into _ him, and the idea made her smile a bit. Sokal had such a rich personality, and it was all laid bare here. After looking closer at the jungle area and the sewing kit, Elem turned around to look at Dain, to see what he looked like in this realm that was entirely his, “you must really love your work, to be able to tear yourself away from this room,” she complimented. “Thank you for letting me in.”

He snickered in approval while opening the forcefield of the vivarium’s entrance. Lakanet was already on the stone threshold and slithered onto his arm as soon as he laid it down. He let her crawl up to his shoulders and closed the forcefield again.

“You’re welcome. I hope you like it,” he turned to her, clearly in his element. “I often wish I could at least bring Lakanet to work if not all my pets,” he admitted with humor and approached to introduce her to Elem, explaining how to behave safely around her. Soukaran reptiles weren’t lethally poisonous to Cardassians but the snake could still bite if surprised.

The three of them settled on the bed, where Sokal told of a cousin species of Lakanet, one with spiky scales called te’emba, and how other children had nicknamed him that in bullying attempts when he was little, because of his scales. He’d gotten back at them and reclaimed the name as artistic pseudonym in adulthood – a way to get a peace with the past and his turbulent self.

Elem had other opinions about this, and even more questions. The questioning kind of question. The sort that made Sokal uneasily glance at the cameras and try to hush her criticism of the Cardassian way of life – a bit taunting, yes, sometimes abusive,  _ not exactly cruel _ … What she perceived as cruelty could be caring, he assured; progress laid at the edge of the comfort zone. But progress couldn’t be forced onto others, Elem assured, fearlessly voicing her own worries, the ones born from her personal experience of awkward child, and the Order take her if she wasn’t allowed to care like she did now.

Sokal paled.

“Elem…” he murmured the name in a pained attempt to appease her, leaning forth so he could keep his voice low. “There  _ are _ places, but not here, not in this house, of all houses… No one here works for them, but… some members of my family do,” he revealed and apologized, his heart pounding mad and strong.

“No, I’m the one who is sorry,” she rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, “I shouldn’t have spoken like this to you. I wouldn’t want to end up putting you at risk; I need to protect  _ you _ ,” she reached up and laid her left hand against his cheek.

“Let’s protect ourselves both then,” he smiled gratefully, and caressed her fingers too.

He startled when the door chimed and threw a look at Elem as to require that they both take distance and act as if nothing disorderly was happening before allowing Mikara to open the door. She informed them that dessert was ready, her quick eyes spying on them, and the youthlings went back downstairs.

 

The diner table had been undressed, but the family had moved back in the garden to enjoy Isar’s singing (she’d started already, joyful tunes that Enar accompanied with claps). Cream and cookies made for a simple dessert. It didn’t look as refined as the previous dish, and comments were being made about the baking, with Ikandar arguing that the oven was becoming faulty and should be replaced. His voice turned into a background noise while Isar cooed at Lakanet and had her do some tricks Sokal had trained her to. Elem observed with awe, clapping her hands a bit in admiration, until she could no longer ignore Ikandar’s ongoing rant about the oven, and offered to take a look at it, see if she could fix it. Mijal vividly approved of the idea and Enar volunteered to show Elem to the kitchen – Sokal understood that he wasn’t invited.

“Say,” the interrogator started as they walked away from the garden, “this hand-clapping earlier was a way to applaud, isn’t it?” he asked. “Bajorans have this way to do it with the back of their fingers instead of their palms,” he showed the movement but kept it silent. “In Cardassia, we rather tap rhythmically against the edge of a table or armrests, or eventually body parts if there is nothing to tap against,” he explained to her.

“I’ll try to remember that!” Elem appreciated.

The asthmatic red kitchen was a lot smaller than Keelani’s and a bit cramped, but functional in design – it was actually rather amazing how much equipment and how many cupboards had been stuffed in this small space while maintaining some surfaces to work on. The oven wasn’t anything recent, and possibly the oldest equipment of the room (in sight, at least), but it had this sturdy Cardassian design. It was quite clear that several generations had trusted in the longevity of this hardware, and the sentimental value was probably a good reason why Mijal objected to get rid of it – as she told her husband “my grandmother baked the best cakes with it and she was a wonderful person!”

“What are your feelings for my son?” Enar suddenly asked when Elem started inspecting the oven.

She blinked at him. Once. Then twice, then she realized her mouth had hung open and she regained her composure, even though a blush was rising at her neckscales and cheeks.

“I don’t know, yet,” she admitted in honesty, “I care for him, and it could grow into something more, but I barely know him, and I don’t grow feelings for people I don’t know,” she gulped a bit and looked at the stove. “He’s beautiful and enticing, and I feel attraction to him, sexual and aesthetic. I wish to get to know him, to at least have him as a friend. I’d understand if you mind,” she hastened to add: “I have no status.”

“No status isn’t the worst there could be about you when, clearly, you have education and skills. However,” he looked down at her, “I would mind if you were to cause him any harm. If you were to find that you don’t feel for him the way he does for you, I expect you to be  _ tactful _ . I raised him to be a good, loving person, strong and caring,” he told more fondly. “I will not see him hurt. Is that clear?”

Elem had to wonder if this question came from experience or precaution, but nodded nonetheless, giving Enar a small smile.

She kept on working, and he kept on asking questions, easily managing to read more in her words than she meant to give away, and so she tried to focus on the oven more instead.

“This needs to be changed,” she showed Enar a spring-like wire, “It’s not broken  _ yet _ , but given time it will break, and then, ah, your oven won’t run anything but the hottest setting,” she smirked, “just like your son,” she teased, a bit improper and daring.

“Insolent, are you?” he grinned, keeping his eyes soft, warmth lingering in the blue. “There’s a service here that would most certainly have interest for someone like you. Have you thought to volunteer? All your expenses would be covered, the education of your children ensured… Of course, it may make people uneasy if they learn of your occupation, but you probably would still have more to gain than to lose,” he suggested.

Even though it would’ve felt nice to Elem to somehow speak of these things, she didn’t think it wise – Enar wasn’t family. Not yet, at least.

“You’re being very helpful,” she commented with suspicion, eyes narrowing a bit, “you’re afraid I won’t be bringing enough to your son’s table, were I to ever enjoin him. That I’d drag him down,” she specified, “It’s crossed my mind, too.”

“My family may be rather… open-minded about certain things,” Enar said, “but most of Cardassia would still view you as an alien, and I know what use Cardassia has for the aliens skilled enough to be granted with citizenship. You wouldn’t be the first, nor the last. Be careful not to disappoint.”

“Thank you for reminding me, I’d almost forgotten,” Elem muttered with sarcasm. “I’m never going to have a home, am I?” she felt frustrated, both with the conversation and the stove, which she dove into again, to preoccupy her hands, “In Federal space, I always was  _ the Cardassian _ , here I’m  _ the alien _ , and wherever I go, half of me is always in the wrong place. Your son thinks that if I were to reproduce, I’d introduce interesting abilities into the Cardassian gene pool, while father thinks I should be washed of every last shred of Betazoid DNA present in my womb. Perhaps I  _ should _ , because being different and never part of any place is a curse I wouldn’t want to cast on anyone!” Then, and only then, did she realize the slip she’d made, and shut her mouth even harder, cursing herself inwardly.

“Don’t discard pieces of yourself, Elem Kel,” Enar told seriously. “If Sokal thinks they are valuable, then he is right, because he is a Notator. And I’d sooner trust the word of a Notator on this matter than that of a Conservator. With all due respect to Rokat, he hasn’t studied medicine: he studied the art of shaming people,” he smirked cunningly. “Of course, it’s a valuable art in this society, but maybe not most helpful to make others feel confident about their personal talents, however uncanny they may be.”

“You’re not surprised,” she pointed his lack of reaction to her giving away that Nall was her father, but avoided to look at him, “How did you know?”

“I told you earlier, Reyal laid accusations. And this time, it will be difficult to make it sound like squander, given that DNA will serve as evidence. But don’t worry, I am certain Rokat will manage to recover from this. And if you need another family to associate with, I am certain my son will help you to find one.”

“You mean... if Nall ends up rejecting me,” Elem clarified with a throat that ached a little. “I know he won’t. I never  _ asked _ for this. I never wanted to be officially recognized... Mister Dain, please, is there no way this could be avoided altogether? Everyone would know what I am,” she realized, shrinking on herself. “They’d look at me, and it’d be all they see.”

“They’ll forget,” Enar shrugged. “You may go by many names if you take up the occupation I mentioned. And if there’s still someone to piss you off, you may even have the power to get rid of them. It’s a good reward, I suppose,” he conceded. “Have they contacted you yet?” he dared ask.

“You really think  _ I _ would qualify for something... like that?” she asked with nervous amusement, keeping on avoiding to answer.

“I let them be the judge,” the man kept a safe position too, then got up and offered his hand to help her up as well. “Of course, we only discussed the fate of this oven,” he asked for her silence. “What is your prognostic? Just that piece to replace?” he held up the wire.

“Yes, and if that doesn’t work, you likely have an additional problem with the air circulation. One or more of the ventilation pipes might have clogged with rust, or something else. A high-pitched sonic frequency might be enough to clear them up, if necessary,” the engineer advised.

“Thank you,” Enar purred in return, slowly walking them back to the others. “So you’re staying for the next two days… Well, maybe you’ll get to repair this oven if Tamak can get a replacement for that piece. And if that doesn’t busy you enough, I believe mother would love to teach you everything she knows about programmation,” he smiled, then added in a much lower voice, “If you’re going to have sex with my son at night, gag yourselves. I don’t want to hear a sound and my hearing is somewhat sharper than average.”

Elem couldn’t fight the rather hot blush away. She was eyes wide with shock and unable to reply anything that wouldn’t make things even more awkward.

Finally, they returned into the garden, and she could announce to the group that the oven might not be dead yet. The conversation thus went on more lightly than before, filling the space with chattering until the hour became rather late and reason started to send everybody on their way to bed.

His snake on his shoulders, Sokal guided Elem back to her room. He didn’t ask about the conversation she no-doubt had with his father, acting more chaste instead.

“I’ll go back to my room, Lakanet needs to go to sleep too… If you feel lonely, of course, there’s room enough for two in my bed. Everything’s up to you,” he wished her goodnight and retreated to his bedroom.

Elem fully intended on paying the young Mister Dain a visit, but she wanted it to be a positive surprise, and she wanted to be representative. This combination led to a two-hour long procedure, during which she cleaned herself thoroughly in the tiny bathroom adjacent to her room, ending at the moment when she paused in front of the mirror that was sat on the small desk next to the bed. The Cardassian staring back to her was stark naked, and the hair was still slightly damp from the shower, but there was something in those eyes.

It had become Elem’s turn to live, but it had come at a cost. Somewhere behind the blackness of her own eyes, Melekor still existed, but he was denied to live, just like Elem had been for so long, and knowing that didn’t make the trade any more fair. She felt half without the freedom to express that part of herself. The divide between Elem and Melekor felt like a lie, a blade wedged into her diaphragm, keeping her from breathing as deeply as she knew she could. At least she hadn’t had much of a choice, at least  _ she _ wasn’t killing Melekor. This  _ was _ the only way it could be.

Yet, the house was dark and silent. The only ones who watched already knew, and they must also know stranger things yet. So Elem slipped a hand into her bag, and once she was fully dressed again, the skin wasn’t hers, but Melekor’s. He was wearing his engineering suit, and it still fit perfectly. When he passed through Sokal Dain’s doors, he did so formally, but silently too.

Sokal had ended up snoozing into sleep on his bed with Lakanet, and as the snake awoke at the intrusion, she awoke him too. At first, the Notator didn’t recognize Elem, but as he blinked back to a more conscious state, he understood better what he was seeing. He was surprised, clearly, but still appreciative of what he saw.

“ _ His _ Kel…?” he wondered aloud.

“Mister Melekor Kel, yes,” the engineer thought to introduce himself, walking up to the bed and sitting on the mattress next to Sokal, careful to avoid squishing Lakanet. “I know, I wasn’t invited, but I had no choice but to come along...” he let Lakanet smell his hand again, so she’d know he wasn’t some hostile stranger. “You don’t mind, do you? That I’m here, I mean.”

Sokal observed the change in attitude.

“I really do not mind,” he admitted elegantly. “I quite enjoy the company of men.”

“And I like  _ your _ company, Dain,” Melekor nestled up in the bed, reaching an arm across the distance between them, fingertips brushing up a path from Dain’s hip to his shoulder. He was relieved he hadn’t been rejected. “Your father warned me, however. We should be silent, or he’ll be very displeased,” he mentioned the conversation, much to the Notator’s mixed embarrassment and amusement.

Between chuckles and kisses, the temperature rose a bit and as Lakanet slithered over her owner’s warm neckscales, Sokal figured he’d rather not involve the snake in this embrace, and went to put her back in the vivarium.

From there, he looked at the man on his bed, then at his own self in his smooth purple bathrobes. He approached, catwalking, long legs adorned with glossy scales sliding out of the shimmering fabric.

“What do you feel like doing, handsome? There are many possibilities, too many for only one night,” he told, keeping his voice low and suave.

“I want to do all a man can do, before I’m no longer one,” Melekor answered with a smile. “I have a feeling  _ you _ have more experience than I do. Tell me of them.” Those words hurt in a way; Sokal couldn’t help but feel a pinch of sadness for his lover.

“Those parts don’t have to go… I’m certain we can see to keep them if you’d rather keep them,” he sat on the bed and caressed his man’s face. “To me, they won’t make Elem into less of a woman, if she’ll tolerate Melekor being there sometimes.”

Melekor sighed and took Sokal’s hand from his face, spreading their fingers to interlace them.

“It’s not exactly what I meant,” he clarified and moved closer, seeking some sort of comfort in the other’s warmth, “I might not be an expert on all things medical, but I’m not stupid enough that I don’t realize my body will change once I no longer provide it with testosterone to battle my more feminine traits. Features will change. I’ll probably grow breasts, a fuller ass and hips, and I’ll have to wear my hair long… Melekor will cease to be. He’ll have to die.” Somehow, it made his eyes itch to talk of it, and he forcefully swallowed to get rid of the thick feeling in his throat.

“I see. I suppose we’ll still have to talk about those things later with… more accurate documentation about the actual possibilities. I’ll find everything for you,” Sokal promised. “And meanwhile, I’ll grant your wish and indulge you as a man.”

He couldn’t help but grin with mischief, letting the discussion slide back into something more kinky, less proper.

It wasn’t easy, being Melekor, in this intimacy, when roughness and degradation were levers to sexual impulses. Sokal was an adaptable partner, compliant and curious, but although he didn’t mind his mate’s lack of experience, Melekor couldn’t ignore it, especially not when being noisy was forbidden. There were caresses, there were teases and kisses, neckjob and hunger with Melekor on top and Sokal’s ragged breath underneath. There was also Garak, lingering in the engineer’s thoughts, and although the man beneath was clearly enjoying all he was given and filled with a warmth that called for more, the position Melekor was in made him feel slightly off, as if he was doomed to mess up with clumsiness. He couldn’t help but to feel out of place. Or unworthy, somehow, like he was laying claim on a position that he wasn’t meant for. Insecurity was, thus, a rather efficient dampener on his mood.

“I’m very bad at this,” he finally shared his insight.

“I don’t share that opinion,” Sokal squirmed. “But not everybody’s confident with being more dominating,” he caressed his forearms. “If it helps, think you’re just obeying my will, like a male prostitute indulging his client. It’s an act, a fantasy… and your imagination can be a good substitute for experience,” he reassured him.

Easy words for the experienced one, thought Melekor. Eventually, he opted to talk about his previous sexual partners, what they did, and Sokal listened. Some men would have been jealous. Sokal wasn’t. He wasn’t going to re-enact old experiences or try to compare to them or replace someone else when something new and unique could be created.

“When I was a teenager, puberty came as an ordeal,” he started his own tale, “I was still this vicious child, but suddenly I had a fiery sex drive as well, and I started to view others… differently. I became more protective of girls, trying to be softer, so to seduce them; and more aggressive even toward boys. One of them was especially resilient and didn’t seem to fear me, which angered me all the more,” he admitted without shame. “One night, I’d left the room and he’d followed me to a bathroom where I confronted him more violently. I slapped him, pinned him against the wall, then on the floor… I was aroused and confused, yet he murmured ‘ _ I know, I know… Me too… _ ’ and kissed me.” He closed his eyes a second. “Noras. We were fourteen, we barely knew how to have sex, but we did it. And we did it again… We learned a number of things together, including love, although our feelings came to shift into friendship over time. It was a rather natural process… I think we were always drawn to each other as friends who loved each other,” he said. “I slept with some other boys and girls, but it was all short-lived stories. I discovered that I liked to tease my partners, dominate them, appear dangerous ...because I wanted them to trust me. But they didn’t, because of my scales, and because most of them weren’t into this. Then I met Saima and there was a connection. We were both searching for something, and what we had to offer was so precisely what the other wanted. It was a perfect match, everything aligned so perfectly…” he told with nostalgia. “It was both love and sex, sometimes elegant and theatrical, sometimes raw and crude, degrading and violent… And sometimes with Noras and his wife,” he flushed slightly. “It was intense and quite out of the norm, but we were all consenting, and with three doctors, we could care for the aftermath quite efficiently…” he almost excused himself. “And then… then there was you. Melekor, Elem.”

Melekor looked at Dain in contemplation. Somehow, he regretted having asked: Sokal had all the experience Melekor wished his body would’ve pursued. It made the situation even  _ more _ daunting and stressful, and eventually he decided to just get off of him and sit next to him instead, leaning against the wall, eyes closed and face upwards.

Lust: that was what had been between them then. And now? For what reason did Sokal Dain believe he loved him? Her? Nostalgia, probably. Because maybe, in some way, Elem reminded him of his former wife. And he wanted something like that again.

“I never had a sex drive as a teen,” he sought shelter in the idle conversation, “My best friend... I believe he might have had feelings for me, desired me, but I was too daft to realize at the time, and anyway, I didn’t have those feelings or desires for him. Nor for anyone else. Despite all that, I was always drawn to expressions and music that reflected these things that I... couldn’t fathom. The allure was seductive, but sexually so? No.” He shook his head and sighed, “Because the only thing I enjoy is torment. Even with this. Love? I’ve been in love once, almost twice, but I- I don’t know if it’s tied to lust at all. I wish it were,” he swallowed. “Perhaps you’re right, and now that I’ve figured out what I like, I’m just a slut, and I don’t care about anything but what’s physical. I should leave.”

“No, don’t,” Dain held his hand as he raised up to rest on an elbow. “I… I wish we may grow to love each other truly, Melekor. I know it probably sounds naive, and surely it is, but I don’t want us to pass on what could be between us. You’re such an… intricate person, there’s so much about you that I’ll never know, so much I’ll never entirely understand, I know…” he apologized, “but I feel attracted to you. To your person. You’re a world of your own, but you’re not a land to conquer, nor a mystery to solve, no. You are both the warmth and the darkness and you go where you walk. All I can do is follow you and hope we may walk in the same direction. I’d change path for you, Melekor, because I want to know where you’re going. We’re both alone, but if we are together… Together, there is so much to discover suddenly, isn’t there? New ways to express ourselves, new ways to live and breath the world. Give us a chance. Stay with me for the night. Let me be your warmth too,” he pleaded.

“It’s a lot of commitment that you want from me,” Melekor reckoned as he looked sidewise at Dain, “What if it won’t happen? I couldn’t possibly measure up to what you had with your wife and your luzzur. And even if I could, what good would it be for me if all I ever did was to take your love and give none of my own? I... I want to be loyal and steadfast, loving and exclusive. What if I can’t be? I’d be deceiving you, abusing you. I don’t want that.”

Sokal bit his lips.

“Then… be free to seek out more, seek out someone your heart would love. I’ll still seek you, but we can keep it a secret. So long as no children are conceived by us, I’ll accept that I may lose you at any time,” he said, his voice starting to tie onto itself in his throat. It was a costly sacrifice.

“Dain...” Melekor turned to better look at the other, “my heart, I believe, already found someone it loves. Unfortunately not only would it be an impossible relationship to begin with, but this person also doesn’t love me... Yet I... I can’t stop feeling this for him. I wish he were here. How am I supposed to grow any new feelings when I already have this? It’s like a disease, an obsession. It’s everything I wish I wasn’t. You are kind, Sokal, you deserve someone who loves you. Someone who doesn’t simply desire you sexually... someone better than me. You’re too beautiful for me,” he closed his eyes. He could still see him on the bench, with the sun in his hair... it was so strange how haunting that picture was, “I want to love you.”

“I want to love you too…” Sokal neared Melekor’s lips with his own and caressed his face as much as he held it to deter a will to escape. “I’m not beautiful, Melekor… at least, not more so than you are. You simply don’t see the beauty in you; you see mine instead and use it to negate your own… but we really are two wonderful monsters,” his lips brushed against his as he spoke. “What are we going to do? I want to be kind to you, I want to love you… even if you love me not. At least allow me try my best to make you happy, to give you all I have to offer,” he asked.

“Then we will court,” Melekor decided for them, withdrawing, “and we won’t bed each other until I love you. Tomorrow, I’ll make myself beautiful, and you will too. Then, if you have work, I will come with you. If not, you will take me to a place of your choosing, you’ll show me Cardassia. What she is to you. You’ll teach me to survive, and I’ll admire your prowess –” Sokal smiled fondly.

“Aren’t you the one trying to make me a happy man, now?” He took a more courteous distance.

Melekor nodded and started to get up, stealing a kiss to Sokal’s chufa in the same movement.

“May you sleep well, and all your dreams be as pleasant as your smile and as warm as the glimmer in your eye.”

And with those words, Melekor tiptoed back to his room, where he became Elem again, undressed, tired and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	16. II - A day with Dain

#  A day with Dain

Sokal felt very handsome that day. He wore a shirt of his own design, trendy in the cut, but more daring in the asymmetry of colors: a brown sleeve on the right side, beige on the left, dark fabric with discrete geometric patterns on the abdomen. It was right on the fine edge between exquisiteness and scandal. A faint fragrance, reminiscent of water streams in sun’s shadow perfumed his hair, and a special lotion made his scales clean and shiny. Of course, his smile was white and perfect as usual, and radiant as he looked at Elem.

Commuting, the courting friends attracted some attention, although nobody made any comment. All of Sokal Dain’s focus was on Elem, and he cared not what the world thought of them, because he cared for her, and that was enough for him. He told her more of his job, of the sort of people he dealt with. Aliens and hybrids, mostly half-Bajorans by now. Right after the Withdrawal, a number of Bajoran collaborators were granted asylum, which had made for a nice busy period, recording adults and their possible children. A number of Cardassians dared to bring in their halfbreed urchins, but only those age ten and above were notated. The younger ones kept on adding to the list over time as they reached their tenth birthday. And then, there were the other aliens at times. Rare occurrences on Prime. Rumors had some of them work for the Order, which didn’t seem too unlikely. Then there was all the administrative part, and the health check-ups (especially for alien sex workers).

As they neared their destination, they devised how he’d introduce her – it wasn’t exactly as if bringing a date to work would fly with his superior.

When they arrived, Sokal didn’t lose much time to greet Ziana, paying her his usual warm greetings although he did care to specify that his company was to his charge.

He was the man Elem had first met again, confident in his stride and body language, waltzing the both of them through the corridors with ease.

When they entered the common room, Sayad, Kovat and Kelar were there already, having the morning fishjuice break (because the day started with a break by Sayad’s decree, which was a good decree).

“Dain, you look atrocious. What’s wrong with you today?” Sayad greeted him.

“Hello Your Sayad, Your Kelar, Your Kovat,” Sokal replied, undisturbed. “My friend and research subject, Her Elem Kel,” he introduced her with humor.

Sayad squinted at her.

“That’s the one who came with the little Rokat and those two awful children some ten days ago. What  _ sort _ of research are you thinking about?”

“It has to do with Her Kel’s very unique brain,” Sokal took Elem to get a cup of fishjuice and a bun. “I’m going to write a paper for Doctor Crell Moset,” he boasted, grinning at Arkeny Kovat, who was daydreaming over personal struggles (his father had invited him over  _ right _ on a couple of days Arkeny had saved for a diving trip proposed by Kelar, and the young doctor knew his father  _ would _ nag).

The doctor’s first response was but a humming monotone. Then he analyzed the words and reacted.

“You can’t do that,” he insisted sharply, “Then Doctor Moset would like to come here, and he can’t!”

“Of course he can,” Sokal laughed and went to sit with Elem in the couch facing the one on which Kovat and Kelar sat – Sayad occupied her armchair to their left. “He’s a very friendly person and such a kind mind, Arkeny… But if it eases you, I wouldn’t be surprised if  _ we _ were the ones to pay him a visit instead.”

“That would be better,” Kovat nodded to himself, shoulders dropping noticeably.

“So, what is it  _ you _ do, Your Kel?” asked Kelar, mostly to take the pressure off of Kovat.

Elem, who hadn’t anticipated this question, swallowed her bun bite in a haste and made a long ’ _ uuuh _ ’ sound before getting an answer out of herself.

“Ship’s repairs, I haven’t started yet, mind,” she looked sidewise at Sokal. “It’s a spotty assignment, an on-demand-service.”

“Civil or military?” Kelar asked further, sipping her juice – Elem raised an eyeridge.

“Is there a difference?”

“Of course there’s a difference, silly,” Kelar smiled, though shaking her head to herself, “but I suppose a low level engineer  _ would _ like to keep her options open.” She said it in such a friendly way, yet Elem could notice the underlying hostility, even though it puzzled her.

“I only wish to serve Cardassia in  _ any _ way I can, so I won’t discriminate,” she couldn’t help but to accept the challenge.

Kelar smiled rather warmly.

“Ah, yes, I could very much see how you’d have a need to overcompensate for your lack of work experience, Your Kel, but please, heed my advice and be careful. You don’t want to end up with  _ too _ much work – break your own neck with too many loyalties, and you’ll impress precisely no one.”

Elem’s cheeks heated up.

“I’ll think about that,” she resorted to diplomatic middle ways, which seemed to delight Kelar, in that she’d won this conversation.

“I hope you appreciate my colleague’s advice,” Sokal smiled politely, “Her Kelar knows a lot about serving Cardassia and she’s very diligent too.” Especially when it came to reporting her colleagues’ misconducts, he knew, and he wasn’t going to give her an opportunity by defending Elem when she had to learn to fend for herself anyway. Sokal turned his attention to Kelar with a toothy grin, “It’s very kind of you, Kelar, to share your insight on Cardassian engineering, I  _ ignored _ you had any knowledge or interest in this business.”

Sayad didn’t let the woman a chance to reply as she snorted at Elem.

“You won’t find any work in ship engineering. You’re a fertile female. At best you’ll be allowed to work on the public transports in the city – it’ll probably be  _ very _ boring and uninteresting because you’ll never rank up.”

“Oh, thank you, Sayad,” Sokal laughed, “but I’m not sure it is proper to say such things according to the Notator’s code of conduct.”

“I’m old and I’m your superior; that makes me right,” the woman shrugged. “Do you play kotra?” she asked Elem instead.

“I am familiar with kotra, yes,” she answered the question, hiding her disgust over the idea of having to possibly serve aboard a public transport  _ again _ , “It’s a very  _ shameless _ game, if I may say so myself.”

“Then you’ll play with me!” Sayad appreciated. “Dain, there’s some idiot scheduled today to come with his half-Bajoran urchin. I don’t feel like halfbreed kids, will you be a darling and throw the birthday party on your own?”

“Why, certainly! When are they scheduled?”

“Just go away and figure it out on yourself,” she got up to pick the kotra board. “I’ll take care of your research subject.”

Sokal sighed.

“Duty calls,” he smiled to Elem. “Have fun!”

##  * * *

The first hour of playing kotra with Sayad had been the most painful one, because at that stage, Elem wasn’t yet used to the derogatory way the woman kept on referring to her. Past the first hour, however, it got a bit better. Part of her stopped caring, and they ended up trading words that could almost have been described as civil. Elem found that Sayad was properly enthused about how disgusting and creepy Trills and their stomach-snakes were, and to make it even more fun, the half-Cardassian exaggerated things and made them even more gross. After that, she bored Sayad with a long lecture about warp engines and plasma manifolds in particular, pretending that she didn’t at all understand or catch the social cues that the topic was boring to her counterpart.

As the second hour neared completion, Elem took a lengthy refreshment break from the kotra board, venturing off to visit the bathroom. On her way, she ran into Arkeny Kovat, who just flashed her a smile and wished her a good day, hurrying off soon after as if she was going to infect him with some sort of plague. She’d intentionally drawn out on the visit to the rather cozy room, gussying herself up in the mirror, inspecting the designer’s details of the interior, until such a time came that she was forced to return to the common room, lest Sayad would think she’d forgotten how to even use a toilet.

Once back, she noticed that the pieces weren’t as she’d left them, which caused a lengthy exchange of bickering; that Elem  _ dared _ accuse Sayad of such a thing was nearly  _ treason _ , and it was quite lucky that Dain chose that moment to return. The state he was in was  _ quite _ something – hair slightly disordered and a bruise on the cheek.

“That has to be one of the longest sessions!” he steamed. “Those Bajorans are savages.” Sayad stared at him.

“Who hit you?”

“Oh,” he touched his jaw embarrassedly. “The mother. I think she scratched herself when- Either way, security handled it in the end,” the Notator summed up.

“You’re going to file a report, right?”

“Later, probably. Who’s winning?” he came over to take a look at the kotra board instead.

“Not me,” Elem answered the question and got up to better inspect the bruise, “I’ll let you borrow some of my makeup to cover that mark, if you want to...”

“How kind of you to offer,” he answered pleasantly, “yet I suppose I’ll see if I can heal it properly. It’s one of the upside of working here: if you get beaten by an angry Bajoran mother, you get to care for yourself afterwards. It’s in the contract,” he joked, although it was actually close to the truth. It was in the contract, albeit phrased more formally and slightly less specifically.

“Was it for the tooth or for the gender?” Sayad asked. “Wait, let me guess. The father provided the drug, so it’s the gender that irked her.”

“The father mumbled something about that he hadn’t dared inform her that their child might get reassigned; he feared problems for telling things she didn’t need to know about,” Sokal shrugged. “Poor little man.”

“Don’t be compassionate and go file a report. We must be respected,” she ordered him. “And heal that bruise while you’re at it; you’re not representative. You wouldn’t want  _ me _ to report that a  _ Dain _ lacks of  _ spine _ ,  _ and _ of  _ respectability _ ,” she winced (because ‘dain’ actually meant ‘spine’ and ‘respectability’).

He nodded and signed at Elem to follow him – a consequence Sayad had not foreseen, but she figured she could give up on the kotra game and maybe go check on her other subalternes, see that they were working rather  than bickering about their  _ theories _ .

 

“Thank you for saving me,” Elem  ushered out of Sayad’s earshot. “If I should be totally honest, I would’ve prefered getting punched by a Bajoran than endure two hours of  _ her _ .”

“Believe me, getting punched was the high peak of that session,” Sokal argued. “I do love my job, but parents can be quite creative in their ways to get in the way of duty. Still, dealing with them is also part of the service, and we never stop to learn. Next time, I’ll have to figure how knowledgeable the alien parent is about what might happen before allowing them in ...or not,” he sighed.

The office he shared with Sayad was quite similar to Kovat’s, in design, but devoid of insects, although it did have a vivarium in which Dain brought some lizards and fish – the offspring of some of his own pets which he couldn’t keep in his personal environment. Sayad’s part of the office featured a number of theater play posters on the walls, signed by the actors who played in them (mostly a certain Geram Bevran, whom she seemed to be quite fond of). There were also a number of posh but costly trinkets serving to display her wealth ...and the uselessness of it for a person without a husband nor children.

Sokal’s side was more tidy and professional-looking, with just some photos of his family and more clamps and medical tools on display. He went for one of the closets to get the regenerator he needed to care for himself in front of the mirror.

“So, this is our office,” he said. “Kovat’s is on the other side of the corridor, and a fine place, if you ask me. He’s got a living collection of insects of all sorts; it’s very interesting. Although, you might not want to see the spiders,” he remembered her arachnophobia.

She smiled at that and looked around for a moment, then decided to take a seat on his chair, watching him heal his cheek. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected this day to be like – not a two-hour date with Sayad, that was for certain.

“You seem to carry a certain esteem here. Your colleagues respect you,” she tried to get the conversation going somewhere, though it was getting to be awkward, because she wasn’t sure what there was to talk about at the moment. “Kovat seemed to be... afraid... of me.”

Sokal laughed with clear amusement.

“Oh, don’t take it personally! He just happens to be a little non-conforming in some spots, and for this reason he’s terrified of being turned into a test-subject if he ever does the least thing to displease the Order – he’s  _ terrified _ of them, and they did take the last patient he identified,” he told, then looked at her, smiling. “Are you enjoying yourself in  _ my _ chair?” he asked with slight cunning. “To have an office, a desk, a place just for yourself… it’s rather nice, isn’t it? One of these days, I’ll get to change side,” he looked at Sayad’s desk, which was somewhat elevated. “I don’t think Kovat will challenge me for the direction of this department…”

Elem blinked a bit in uncertainty and got up from the chair, instead sidling up next to Dain so she could watch their reflections together.

“And if you left your chair, who would take it in your stead?” she glanced sidewise at the seat, “Kovat? Or someone new?”

“Someone new,” he agreed. “Possibly an intern student, unless someone gets demoted here or volunteers for the post. To work for the Bureau of Alien Affairs is rather prestigious in theory, but people have more respect for Notators who take care of Cardassians. Some people are prone to jumping to the conclusion that we must have done something wrong to end up working here, others fathom we might have some odd interest in exobiology, and then there are those who think we are either compassionate or sacrificing ourselves for the greater good of Cardassia. I’m still not sure which version I hate the most,” he admitted, laughing pleasantly in contrast to his words.

Elem burst into a smug grin.

“So you mean you  _ don’t _ have an odd interest in exobiology? I mean, you seemed pretty interested in  _ me _ ,” she nudged him in the side with her elbow. “I’m sorry, I’m just jesting,” she turned to lean against the wall next to the mirror, watching only him – he was quite elegant. “It disturbs you that people would ridicule and belittle your life’s work, especially while your parents are so proud of you, doesn’t it? Because it isn’t a disrespect only to you, but also to them.”

“And to all of us here and Cardassia herself,” he agreed and completed. “All the jobs that exist, exist for a reason, and all we can wish is that they are performed by competent persons. I don’t think it is necessary to hold a judgement of value over someone’s occupation. It doesn’t serve any purpose for our society as a whole. In fact, I think we would function better if people cared less about what others do and more about how efficiently they do it.”

He had more opinions to expand this one, but they weren’t exactly the wisest to spread.

“You must have many disagreements with Miss Sayad, then,” Elem concluded with a nod of compassion. “After you’d left, she continued with the topic of public transportation, so I  _ had _ to tell her that it’s what I used to work in. And when I added that I hoped to accomplish more here, she laughed at me,” Elem’s lips formed a straight, sturdy line of disapproval. “I was very close to telling her to go fuck herself.”

Sokal couldn’t help but burst in laughter at the last words, appreciating the sudden contrast.

“I’m very grateful you didn’t, she would have filed a complaint against you and reported me, and that wouldn’t have been pleasant for either of us.”

He stopped the regenerator, checking that the bruise was completely healed before putting the tool back in place.

“I know Sayad can be insufferable, I work with her on a daily basis, but I dedicate myself to ignoring the poison in her attitude. She’s old, she’s infertile, unenjoined, but she has a lot more heart than she shows,” he sighed. “I’m sorry you had to stay with her so long…” he came back to Elem, apologizing. “We have two more hours before my shift is done. Maybe we could go ask Edar if he has any knowledge about Federation translators – I doubt it, but it’s still a good enough excuse to get to the fourth floor and see Rokat’s workplace,” he suggested with malice. And a good opportunity to keep on trying making better contact with Dayar Edar – something Sokal hadn’t been very successful in so far. “Then, maybe we could see if I can perform this procedure I suggested before, to help you learn basics in Kardasi faster.”

“I’d like that,” Elem agreed as she straightened up from the wall. “Do you think he’ll be working? Glain, I mean,” she hesitated for a moment, then admitted with a wince, “I’m not so sure he wants to see me right now, and I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

In truth, however, her insecurity stemmed from the fact that she wasn’t so sure he was still as favourable of her as he’d been before his mother died. Now, with her gone, he’d been confronted with new limits, and what was to say that those limits didn’t end before Elem begun? She didn’t want to be a threat to him, but wasn’t sure how to communicate that to him.

“He’ll be working, but I suppose Damar will have given him an office with computer,” Sokal led the way out and toward the closest elevator, explaining what he knew of that assignment. “If Damar didn’t grant him that comfort, I guess I could propose him to use mine and he’ll be very happy until the second he’ll realize who else might share the office,” he grinned deviously. “This, Elem, is the sort of mildly cruel pranks we indulge in.”

Elem stared at Sokal, eyes wide in disbelief.

“His mother just passed, I really don’t think bullying him like this right now is much of a  _ prank _ , Dain,” she lectured him as she hurried after him, “I don’t want him hurt; he has enough on his mind already.”

“I know, I know, but Rokat won’t be sore for long,” the Notator went onto explaining that Sayad was a known slacker, and that, given Glain’s circumstances, Damar was likely to order Sayad out of the archivist’s way. “But maybe he already appointed him someone else’s office.”

The doors of the lift opened and they made their way to the common room. Elem frowned but nodded in understanding, following closely behind Sokal, but not too close for etiquette. Not that she was entirely sure she recalled it correctly.

“Ah, Dain,” Damar greeted them nearly instantly as they entered  _ his _ corridor. He himself was stood in the hallway with a cup of tea, next to Freyar, who also held a cup. In the background, a loud, whirring sound was heard – “If you’ve come for tea, I’m afraid we’ll have to disappoint you. The boiler just broke down,” he smiled his apology, “And who might this be? Did you finally get yourself a little assistant?”

“Your Damar,” Dain greeted him most politely and cheerfully, “Your Freyar…” he added somewhat more casually.

At the same time, Elem nodded her greeting, and Freyar squinted a bit more from where he was standing. It was quite clear that he didn’t consider this woman to be the most pleasant one he’d ever laid eyes on, but since he wasn’t a complete asshole, he didn’t say anything. Not that his expression would’ve needed any further explanation.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the resources to get me an assistant yet,” Sokal went on, “but this is Her Elem Kel. She recently arrived here and she’s helping me with research. I was planning on asking His Dayar Edar a few questions that would also help me – it shouldn’t take long,” he specified.

“You’ll find Edar in his office with Rokat, probably squabbling over who needs computer access the most,” Damar sighed to himself. “Don’t disturb them too much; they are both  _ behind _ in their respective tasks. Oh, and don’t pester the archivist, his mother only just passed away.”

As Damar stepped out of the way to let them pass, Dain nodded a thank and started to walk. Freyar also made an observation about her Kel’s behind, which was as sorely disappointing as the front of her. Not that he’d say that to her. Then Sokal (who had noticed Freyar’s misconduct) turned around to address the Chief Archivist again.

“Your Damar, actually… I’ll be in the investigation room for the rest of my shift, which ends in roughly two hours, which means my computer will be unused for the rest of the day. I would be very inclined to let the young Rokat use it ...but I’m afraid he and Her Sayad have some sort of twelve-year old feud,” he bit his lips embarrassedly, then looked at Freyar. “Although… if His Freyar here would be so kind as to entertain Her Sayad playing kotra for the rest of the day, I guess the office would be free for His Rokat and efficiency would be improved in all services…”

“I have many important things to-”

“-Deal,” Damar cut Freyar short, rubbing his left temple as the sound from the break room got louder. When his subordinate stared at him rather than obeyed his request, he sent him a surly glare: “On your way, Freyar,” he snarled a bit, which sent the other moving.

Then, he accompanied Dain and Kel: “She and Freyar are about the same age, aren’t they?” he griped, “It’s days like these when I wonder why we’ve set the retirement age so high – they do nothing but ride on their former expertise, which is since long outdated...” not that Freyar had ever had any expertise to begin with, but that  _ was _ another matter.

“They both should be retired already,” Sokal admitted. “Do not get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for my superior, but I believe our resources would be employed better if we didn’t lose so much time having to deal with complaints from about each and every parent whose child gets notated by her.” He sighed and stopped in front of Dayar’s door. “I wouldn’t be against repeating the same deal over the next days – who knows, Sayad might even figure she could play kotra even more if she were effectively retired,” he jested.

Damar hummed and then knocked on the wall, opening the door and sticking his head in.

“Edar, you have visitors. Rokat, gather up, I’ve arranged a workspace for you down at ground level. You’re to relocate, effect immediately.”

Then he stepped out of the way so Dain and Kel could enter, and he himself scuffled back to the break room to dispose of his empty teacup.

Edar, who had been in the middle of not talking to Rokat while attempting translation jobs on his PADD, burst out in a sharp ‘ _ ha _ ,’ as in “ _ ha, I can have my office back, _ ” waving his hand dismissively at Glain in an instant.

Stern and sullen in black, the archivist looked at the door. His hard expression froze into a mix of puzzlement, horror and paranoia as he caught sight of Elem.

“What’s the meaning of this, Dain?” he asked cooly while saving his work session in rapid clicks. In an instant, he was up and ready to leave.

Sokal tensed a bit at the cold attitude.

“I won’t be needing my computer for the rest of the day. You can have my office – my and Sayad’s office, I mean,” he corrected, to see that cold shimmer in Glain’s eyes before continuing, “I suggested Freyar plays kotra with her so you may have the entire office for yourself.”

“I see…” Glain relaxed a little. “Thank you, Dain. I believe both His Edar and I are  _ extremely _ grateful for this kind arrangement,” he told with smooth politeness, although he did not let his guard down a second. “May I inquire about her presence here?” he gave Elem a cautious look, as if considering the serious risk that she might pull out a phaser and shoot him.

“Research,” Sokal said. “I plan on trying to make it easier for her to learn Kardasi through medical engineering. I thought His Edar would maybe have some interesting knowledge to share.”

Glain nodded.

“Your Edar,” he paid his colleague a formal goodbye, speaking more softly, “I hope you’ll get back on schedule.”

He headed for the door but stopped by Sokal’s side to murmur, “Do not betray my trust, Dain,” and got out, only paying Elem a nod as to acknowledge her existence.

This was a most embarrassing situation, even if he was thankful for the office. Sokal on his behalf couldn’t fault Glain for being paranoid, especially in his circumstances. He gave Edar a tight smile.

“Hi Edar. Do you have any knowledge about Federation translators?”

“I quite possibly have some documents related to Federation technology, but I’m afraid those are classified and for military use only,” he smiled a bit and swivelled in his chair and grabbed a PADD from the desk, glancing behind Dain at the woman who stood there like a silent shadow. “Don’t mind His Rokat,” he told her, “his mother just died.”

“I know,” Elem answered automatically, which caused a brief confusion to wash over Dayar’s face, until he decided to dismiss the concern.

“This PADD, however, contains the translation of the Romulan documents you wanted,” he reached it to Sokal. “They were, as you hoped, of medical interest – some of the terminology lacks translation; I’ll let your no-doubt sound expertise fill in the blanks.”

“Oh, thank you!” Sokal expressed pleased surprise. “I didn’t expect it so fast. I hope you’re not overworking yourself…” he shared slight concern.

Dayar looked at him like he’d said something entirely alien.

“I work as much as I need to finish my tasks, Notator,” he commented carefully, as if he suspected he was walking into some kind of trap. Dain  _ did _ come from a family of interrogators, after all. “But thank you for your... caring,” that was the wrong word, and he knew it. “You’re not going to try and convince me to attend Ziana’s party, are you?”

“No, certainly not,” Sokal almost chuckled, then turned more serious again. “I’m a Notator, I guess that caring is an occupational hazard that’s occurred to me. Now, I’ll let you work as much as you need and return to my own tasks. Enjoy your office being yours again, Your Edar,” he grinned pleasantly before turning to Elem so they could leave the very puzzled young man behind.

Once more, Sokal could feel he’d somewhat creeped on the other, but chose not to dwell on it.

“What do you make of how Glain behaved?” Elem asked in a hushed voice as they walked away.

“I can’t be sure, I don’t know him very well and I’m a Notator, not a psychologist,” Sokal admitted. “But I’d say he’s going through quite an emotional turmoil lately and… I’m not sure what’s up with this new attitude and this new style. It most certainly has to do with his mother’s death… He might be going through  _ iyaõunçuna _ I suppose,” he issued.

“Iya-oon-chu-what?” she gave him a questioning frown.

“Iyaõunçuna,” he repeated, “it’s… the act of abnegation,” he tried to explain. “The sacrifice of the self, of one’s personal desires and ambitions to submit to the path laid forth by authority, be it that of parents or the State. It is something all good Cardassians must go through. For some it’s easy, for others it’s very painful; it all depends on the burdens we are flawed with. You too are walking this path,” he pointed discreetly. “It’s a compliment,” he cared to specify.

Elem forced a breath of air into his tight lungs and smiled despite the tickle in his stomach.

“I didn’t want to think about that,” he told simply as they entered the elevator.

She wondered, though, why that cold attitude had to come with it. Surely Glain had known he’d have to follow in his father’s footsteps (and get a wife) ever since he’d been very young? How could it possibly be that  _ shocking _ to him? It couldn’t be just that. There had to be more.  _ Something _ must have happened back in the house, maybe with those relatives he’d mentioned. Finally, doubts strung her up and as the elevator’s doors opened, she closed them and turned to Sokal with a quizzical look.

“Why would he shift from approving of me to disapproving of me? What could’ve possibly happened to cause such a change in attitude? He  _ barely _ greeted me. Why doesn’t he let me care for him? I wish I could be there, for him and for fa... for Nall.”

“This is his  _ workplace _ ,” Sokal cared to specify. “I would assume he didn’t want Dayar to figure out anything he shouldn’t… And this was the Dayar Edar Glain wished to court. That might play in the equation. Edar’s temper has been degrading a lot lately, and he doesn’t want to think of enjoinment and all that comes along. It’s… unfortunate for the both of them.”

Elem leaned against the wall a little, looking at the closed doors.

“I need to care for them,” she mumbled, frustrated with herself. “I love them. I love them, but I’m not allowed to be there when it could be useful. I make no difference, I’m just as alone as I used to be.”

“I understand,” Sokal delicately reached for her fingers, caressing them discreetly. “Would you like to talk to him in my office? Just the two of you so he’ll hopefully be more open. Meanwhile, I’ll be preparing the investigation room and busying myself there. And you can join me back when the two of you are done talking.”

“I... I would appreciate that,” Elem held his hand in her own for a small while and just smiled as the doors resumed to opening again.

 

They made a detour first, to show her the way from the investigation room to his office, so she could find the way back, and once there, Sokal cared to chime before entering his own office. Glain had already turned on both computers and was standing behind Sayad’s, laying PADDs and running programs. He eyed up at Sokal and Elem, a questioning gleam to his eyes.

“Thank you for the office,” he said. “It’s… very practical.”

“You are welcome. I believe you’ll make better use of this computer than Sayad does.”

“She’s on the list of users who will  _ need _ to comply to proper behaviors for the sake of the database,” Glain replied factually.

“I trust you,” Sokal nodded. “I need to prepare a room for-”

“-Why have you brought her to work, Dain?” the archivist interrupted. “Are you seeking to be reported? Do you not understand what consequences it would have for her?” he glared.

“I need to prepare a room for research,” the Notator insisted to finish his sentence. “Unless you report me, nobody will. This is all entirely and strictly professional. Science is unfunded. Progress relies a lot on benevolent research. Her Kel volunteered to help me.”

Glain looked at them cautiously, still somewhat hard in his expression.

“Fine,” he concluded. “But be careful. Patterns are easy to spot.”

“I know,” Sokal backed to the door. “I leave her to your care for the moment being,” he said before leaving, not giving Glain any time to comment on that.

The young man looked at his sister while returning to Sokal’s computer to launch more applications he needed for his work session to be running.

“Are you enjoying your day, Your Kel?” he asked almost casually.

She took a deep breath and went up to the desk, leaning against it to get a better look at her brother. His attitude was off-putting, but it made her more concerned rather than less.

“How are things going back home, Glain? I miss you...”

Glain smiled, taking his time to phrase himself.

“It’s going rather well,” he said. “So far, nobody else has died,” he announced like Tobran congratulating himself on his correct weather predictions on TV, although his gaze kept cold. “Enjam is displeased with the children, which isn’t a surprise. For the rest, I had given father advice and he decided to ignore it completely and tell his brother about you. I guess we can congratulate ourselves over the fact that no disassociation procedure was started yet, although Enjam maintains that he  _ will _ disassociate if father pursues recognizing you.” He remained calm, arms crossed behind his back.

Elem had paled significantly, one hand slapped over her mouth in shock.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed once she’d managed to remove her hand, “this moment shouldn’t be about me, oh, Glain...” she looked at him with watery eyes.

He pinched his lips and opted to change topic.

“Could you and Dain learn anything from his father? Rumors concerning Reyal’s case?” he inquired.

“I’m sorry, I... just know they think there might be a trial. And that it involves more. I haven’t managed to hear any more of it. They don’t seem to think the outcome will be something... something your father wouldn’t be able to recover from.”

“I guess we have to count on Reyal having figured out everything and started to squander…  _ as I said would happen _ .”

He was tired.

“It  _ is _ upsetting to be right, to warn everybody, and to be listened by no one,” he shared his exasperation and got up, coming closer to take Elem’s hands in his own. “Don’t worry. I’ll always protect you, Elem,” he assured. “Rather, tell me, how is Dain? Is he treating you well? How did it go with his family?”

She didn’t answer instantly; instead she embraced him close in a hug, rubbing his back.

“I wish this didn’t have to happen now,” she mumbled against his cheek, nuzzling him a bit. “And Dain is very kind, and very sweet... Don’t judge him for bringing me here, I asked him to,” she moved back a little, smiling gently. “I was hoping you’d be at work, so that I could see you, be there for you, even if for just a brief moment,” it wasn’t true, but it might as well have been.

“I should have known that such a crazy idea had to come from you,” Glain groaned, chastising her but holding her still. “I love you,” he whispered to her ear, which brought more color back to her, “but we must not lower our guard.” Saying so, he took a step of distance to look at her. “You are very pretty… Is it for him?”

She smiled carefully as she took hold of his hands and held them between their chests.

“For him, and for me. I... have agreed to let him court me, I want to see if I can grow feelings for him,” she confessed, looking down at Glain’s hands in her own. “How is it going for you and Edar? Any progress there?”

His smile receded at the question, turning to a neutral sad pinch.

“I… believe he almost hates me,” he summed up. “Elem…” he hesitated strongly to bring up the question. “I’m not sure if I should ask this but… I believe you had a very bad impression of Lykes when you first met? You distrusted him, thought he was a criminal deviant, didn’t you? How did you become friends again?” he asked cautiously. “If only for a while…”

Elem’s smile died too, and she let go of Glain and made even more distance between them.

“My first impression wasn’t exactly wrong,” she pointed it out with a fair bit of acid, “I really don’t want to talk about it. Lykes is dead and buried to me, and I’d like for it to stay that way. Now. If you want to make things better between yourself and Dayar... I suggest you turn time into your messenger. If you try to change his view consciously, he might mistake it for manipulation, and think you have ulterior, shallow motives. Which, perhaps you do, but you don’t need to let him know that.”

“I thought so,” Glain agreed. “I don’t like having to trust into something as fickle as time. I don’t like having to trust into anyone either. Deceit and disappointment are everywhere,” he came back closer to squeeze her hands dearly as he warned her. “Family is all that matters now. The State first. Family second. Father intends to make you part of the family, which means we must be united more than ever. There are no friends here, only enemies or allies. We must be careful,” he whispered to her. “I need you, Elem. I need you to entertain Dain. He seems to like you; keep it so as much as you can. For the sake of our family, for your own sake too, for mine…” he smiled with his lips only, his eyeridges still forming a hard, authoritarian line. “Can you do that for me?”

Elem nodded and leaned their heads together, chufa against chufa.

“Of course, I’d do anything for you, you know that,” her voice betrayed the fondness she felt and her smile, “and for what it’s worth, I believe it won’t be a difficult task. I’d be more concerned about his father, were I not to develop feelings for him; he’s protective of Sokal, like a father should, but moreso even. If he ever were to think I’d caused Sokal any harm, he would be my enemy in an instant. But I wouldn’t worry about that, I don’t want to hurt that young Mister Dain. He doesn’t deserve harm.”

“Then that is all good,” Glain indulged in the contact, gently rubbing his nose against hers. “I approve of the Dain family. If you grow feelings for him, they should be worthy allies,” he moved to look at her in the eyes, just keeping contact between their nose tips.

For this short moment, he looked younger again, with more warmth and joy in his green eyes. He laid a hand against her cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb for a few seconds, silent but tender, then moved his face closer to nuzzle her other cheek.

“It’s been a lot, it’s a lot, but I’ll make it fine,” he promised. “The children will go to an Institute, I will start working as father’s assistant, we’ll find a position for you… It will be good,” he smiled and kissed her lips, close to the corner of them, pretending he didn’t know where his own lips had landed.

Elem stiffened a bit – not at the kiss; it was barely noticeable in contrast to her realization.

“About that,” she cleared her throat and made a little bit of space between them, “I found a commitment already. I’ll discuss it with Nall once I’m welcome back to the house. Don’t worry for me,” she smiled a bit. “I always found my way, I’m used to relying on myself.”

“And what would that be?” he asked with interest. “I won’t tell father in your stead, of course, but now,  _ that _ would be the high peak of the day!”

Elem knew she’d taken a moment too long to answer, as she tried to make up a word for it.

“Repair work,” she settled on, “on-demand. Doesn’t have a clear schedule, from what I gather. As I said, it’s fine for me.”

By now, Glain could tell when she was lying and his pupils dilated for a second as he studied her, patterns forming in his mind faster than light.

“Well, that’s good,” he smiled. “Which service is employing you and how did you get the interview? How much is the pay? Have you already set up a financial account?” he drew a long list of questions that made her blush, before stopping with a chuckle. “Oh, well, this certainly can wait. I have work to do, and His Dain is waiting for you,” he patted her shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” he patted her shoulders. “Go now, we’ll see each other later.”

“We will. I love you, brother,” she took her brother’s hands once more before leaving, holding them firmly. “I wish you strength, and I know happiness lays at the end of your path.”

Then she kissed his knuckles and left him to his duties, while she returned to Sokal. She’d have to figure out the answers to those questions, however. In case someone in Dain’s family might ask.

On her way to the investigation room, she ran into Kovat again, who nodded to her and gave her a court greeting, all while avoiding eye contact. She was pretty certain that if he only knew of her contact with the Order, he’d avoid her entirely, and it  _ was _ saddening. 

At last, she entered Dain’s room without much ceremony, announcing herself to her personal doctor with a low nod.

“Your Elem Kel,” he welcomed her a bit more warmly than was professional. “Did you have any chance talking with Rokat?” he left the console, coming over with a PADD. He’d prepared some tools on the little triangular table by the examination chair.

Elem found that there was something decidedly adorable about how proper Sokal was, and nodded at his question as she went to the examination chair and sat in it, assuming she didn’t have to undress this time.

“I did,” she told him casually, closing her eyes in relaxation, “and I feel much better now. I think he does too. Say, Notator Dain, what do  _ you _ think of the young Rokat? It is my observation that he’s trying to court a certain someone, but he’s concerned that this someone isn’t appreciative of his attention. You’re a doctor, you must be good at healing that which is broken. How would  _ you _ go about solving this kind of puzzle?”

“Oh,” Dain showed a little bit of embarrassment, as he hadn’t exactly expected the question. “Do you mind if I run some scans while I answer? You just need to keep you head against the headrest,” he helped her into position and brought up the scanner ring – soon, the device started to orbit around  Elem’s head like a satellite.

“Dayar Edar isn’t intersexed; he’s dysphoric,” he started to explain his point of view. “When he was notated as a child, he was identified as fully female but asked to be recorded as male. Because he was also fertile, he was allowed to live as a man, which was preferable than risking that he’d inflict a criminal death to himself – such things have been known to happen  _ a lot _ ,” he thought to mention and went on about some more about the way Dayar’s father practically disowned him and dumped his charge to his brother Demeny. Sighing at the sad story, he started to calibrate the scanner some more, as well as his tools.

“Dayar is a sweet person, but deeply unhappy. He’s very talented, and I believe he wished to be an interpret or something, work in embassies maybe, but many of those positions are considered too dangerous for someone with functional female reproductive organs, and so, he is land-bound here. And now that he’s nearing his thirties, he is required to take anti-dysphoric drugs to get to terms with his ah, gender issue. Unfortunately, I do not think they are working for him from what I can observe – it’s not that I’m a creep,” he cared to specify, “it’s just that we, Notators, rarely get to see around us the adults living with the consequences of the decisions we had to take during their recording.”

Elem was uncertain of what to think of this all, wondering if she’d been anything alike to Dayar, had she been born and raised in Cardassia. After all, she’d lived most of her life as a  _ man _ , comfortable with it, never unhappy about it. What if being raised a girl would’ve made her unhappy, like Dayar was? Meanwhile Sokal continued with his diatribe.

“...Science isn’t funded enough to come up with proper medicine, and there are still so many things we don’t understand about our own biology, if I should be honest… Unhappiness paired with trauma and our natural tendencies for paranoia make for a very unfortunate blend. I believe Dayar sees Rokat as an opportunist trying to further his very personal agenda of getting enjoined with whomever he can find who would suit his confused needs. He’s distrustful, guarded, and I’m not sure there’s anything your friend can do about it… Dayar is one of the most secretive employees here, and his personality is vastly different from Glain’s… Or at least, the one I met before his mother died,” Sokal reckoned. “He’s quite different now, isn’t he? Do you think that’ll last?”

“I hope it won’t,” she admitted after a while. “I think being proper like this is stressful for him. I’m worried he’s doing it as a defense mechanism. And that he’ll become deeply unhappy if he stays loyal to the upkeep of such a facade. I... just want him smiling, that’s all. Like you,” she added and opened her eyes a bit. “When I first saw your smile, I have to admit it rather creeped me out. But now, when I know you better, I can see the true joy behind your smile... you love what you do. I wish that he too will love what he does.”

Sokal couldn’t help but grin at that, white teeth flashing.

“I have no doubt that His Rokat will strive for his own happiness. He is altruistic, but also selfish, if not self-centered even, and somewhat arrogant. But he has reasons to be so, I believe, and he seems to have a strong sense of community,” he shared his opinion. “I cannot know if Dayar will be part of this happiness, but in a way, a part of me wishes it could be the case – Dayar could use a bit of fantasy and joy, and the company of a mate capable to embrace him as he sees himself. But only future will tell. Now,” he gave Elem display glasses and earphones, “I will begin the cerebral mapping. I’m afraid we’ll have to drop the conversation for the time being and just focus on the current task.”

That said, they went onto the exercise. The scanner kept on orbiting while Elem was being stimulated with pictures, sounds and words to help the medical tools to make an accurate brain map. Almost an hour later, Sokal could start to connect the translator to the computer, using his tools to inject a virus in the implant in order to allow the communication between the Federation device and his Cardassian computer. From this point, he could download the data and let the program run its modifications.

“There, now we just have to wait for the upgrade to be ready for transfer,” he took a stool and sat. “When it’s done, the program will trigger the implant into stimulating your brain in way to force the generation of engrams on which you should be able to rely on later when the implant is turned off. Do you have any question? Or can I offer you some tea?” he got up to put water to boil and brought some boxes from which to choose a flavour.

Elem drowsily watched him do – the exercise had been a little bit more exhausting than she’d expected.

“What kind of changes do you think I should expect?”

“Mental tiredness,” he answered first while she inspected the boxes of tea, then went onto explaining that the implant would now stimulate her brain like a muscle, which could induce intellectual strain. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to set a timer for the program to start running only from tomorrow,” he said while infusing the tea. “You’ve just had a bit of a strain right now with the mapping, and I would hate to see you with a headache tonight,” he looked 0back at her from where he stood.

“You have my permission,” she told him courtly. “Not that anything of interest will happen tonight. Remember, I’m a proper, virtuous young woman... You, Master Dain, should treat me with utmost care and gentle innocence. That is what is proper.”

He looked at her, amused, then his expression froze as he realized how his words had been interpreted. “I- I did not mean- I meant,” he fumbled with his words embarrassedly and turned his attention back to the tea. “This was a very unfortunate wording, and unfortunate timing,” he cleared his throat and brought the teapot and two cups on yet another little triangular tray.

“You really are a sweetheart, aren’t you?” she praised him a bit and took her cup in her hands, “I must seem rather oblivious in your eyes; you made me into a citizen, but that’s just the beginning, and now I’m here, thrown into the water, and I barely know how to swim... Doesn’t it bother you how alien I am? Vulnerable and weak in my ignorance?”

“Oh, it does bother me,” Sokal admitted, “but not in the way you think. How could I fault you for ignoring what we conceal?” he pointed. “We’re secretive, we only give to see a made-up image to the outside world… and we’re not extremely good at taking care of our rare immigrants,” he grabbed the other cup and took a sip.

“With the Withdrawal, we had an influx of Bajoran collaborators here. Not that all of them came here of course – only those who could afford it or were dragged here by some ah, romantic ties. Still, the number was large enough for the Detapa council to suggest that they should be given education as to how to become proper Cardassian citizens. Somehow, it wasn’t exactly a success ...I believe a few people ended up in trials, and it was altogether entirely unpopular. That’s why you’re not getting classes: they were canceled. Not that it solved the problem, obviously,” he sighed. “At least, I hope the Rokats and I are being helpful for you,” he smiled.

“You  _ are _ , but I feel like I’m a possible risk to all of you while I still am not sure how to act. I don’t want to endanger you, or them; it would be even worse than endangering myself, I- I don’t want to cause problems or harm, but I worry that I might, and... and it’s stressful,” she smiled a bit nervously. “If I do wrong, will I be punished so I can be forgiven? Or will I just never know if what I did will be added to what’s past?”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I was thinking of getting you a present to hopefully help you with this, but maybe we could pick it together instead?” he suggested. “When we’re done here, we could go to the culture shop, see if we can find some nice books, maybe a holoprogram training in Cardassian social etiquette,” he offered. “And if you’re worried about getting in trouble, we can probably also find quantities of books in the line of ’ _ Keeping in order: how to avoid vanishing in Obsidian shadows, _ ’ ’ _ Zika the Righteous, _ ’ ’ _ How to swim the tides of time and truth _ ’ and such interesting works.  _ Zika the Righteous _ is a classic of children’s literature of course, and you’re not a child anymore, but Tilayan and Kilem are, and it’s so integral to the general culture that you should probably read it in order to pick references. I still have the copy my mother passed down to me when I was little,” he smiled sweetly in the idea that, one day, he’d look at his wife, cuddling in bed with their child while he lulled them into sleep with the story.

“An excellent idea,” Elem agreed with a tiny sigh. “You’re so very helpful, it’s very kind of you,” her praise clearly made him happy.

“Who knows, I could even study how efficient this all is for you, and write a little paper about it!” he said enthusiastically, half-jesting, half-serious, then realized there might be studies on the topic and moved to the computer to run a search.

He was disappointed by the shortness of the list of titles he found, but considered it might have been longer prior to Natima Lang’s disappearance – one of the authors was a former student of hers, apparently. Sokal downloaded everything, included some Bajoran woman’s works, thinking an alien’s perspective would be interesting. Elem giggled meanwhile.

“I can’t imagine that my situation is incredibly common, Mister Dain. But you are quite right to wish to study me – I imagine the children left behind on Bajor might one day want to return to Cardassia, and at  _ that _ point, reintegration might be a very vital function in society.”

“A most sorry topic,” Sokal conceded. “I’m afraid that currently, the State considers it cannot afford to care for war orphans but through natural selection: there will be those who’ll blend in, and there will be those who’ll swiftly end up in a trial and will serve Cardassia in a way the State sees fit.”

“Natural selection...” Elem murmured absently.

She got up from the chair and set the cup aside, looking around a bit. This was the room where she’d first met Sokal Dain, and yet now it looked so different…

“Why, if infertility is such a huge problem, isn’t adoption something more widespread? It... it’s a bit illogical.”

“Paranoia,” Sokal drank from his cup and went over to check the program’s progress. “It is a hard belief that we instinctively recognize those who are of our blood, and will protect them. To adopt is to bring into the family someone who may never love you unconditionally like a child of your own would, someone who could even murder you in your sleep – which has been known to happen. Grateful, well-behaved adoptees don’t end up in trials, so it’s unsurprising that orphans would be unpopular when all we see of them is bad,” he hinted and noted Elem’s expression. “Battles must be chosen with care, Elem. The only fight for you right now is the one for your own survival in this society.”

“Nall Rokat decided to tell Glain’s uncle, Enjam, about me,” she finally linked her part to the rest of the chain and told of his distaste and threat to disassociate. Elem looked down at her hands, “I have to admit, I’m a little concerned that maybe this Enjam person will find his  _ own _ way to get rid of me.”

In an instant, Sokal had moved to the console computer again to bring up Enjam’s file, for good measure.

“He’s a Glinn, fertile male but unenjoined,” he told. “The Central Command has been  _ harassing _ him into getting enjoined for years now, considering he’s already  _ fifty-eight _ .” He brought up some medical records, scanning them quickly in hope to get a guess over the possible causes of this celibacy. While he was at it, he compared the man’s DNA samples with Melekor’s, Nall’s and Elem’s, to be certain that the family constellation identified in the restricted access files was correct. No doubt was possible, really; it all was very clear on screen.

He closed the files and smiled at Elem.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine in the end. Enjam Rokat is a respectable military officer as far as I can see, and I doubt he’d sully himself with murder or anything shady. But if you’d rather keep on living at my home until this affair is over, you are welcome. I  _ doubt _ he’d try anything in the vicinity of a house under the close watch of the Order, and he’s smart enough to figure it would be a terrible idea,” he reassured her and showed the chair as an invitation to sit back. “The program is ready, we can start the injection.”

Elem smiled nervously and came along, sitting back in the chair.

“You... you don’t think it’d be better if I went there to talk to him? If what you said is right, if he might be able to feel that we’re family, maybe he would approve of me better?”

“That’s a possibility,” Sokal started to configure his tool for the injection. “But considering Enjam doesn’t have a family of his own, I would hold doubts. After all, some Cardassians still end up betraying their family at times, and we’re not entirely sure of what biologic ah, phenomenon might cause this,” he rolled his eyes a bit. “ _ If _ there were more studies on the topic, I could certainly emit a more confident prognostic, but at the moment… Well, I’m afraid he’s still a military, and they tend to be more… less open-minded,” he suggested. “In the end, only Nall can take the decision to have the both of you meet. If you’d like, you can call him after we’re done with this, and ask him directly.”

“No,” Elem refused almost instantly, “this moment in his life isn’t supposed to be about  _ me _ , anyway – he just lost his wife, I don’t want to intrude.”

“That’s wise,” Sokal appreciated. “It’s going to be fine, I promise,” he cupped her face gently as he slanted and raised the chair to work more comfortably. “I will sedate you slightly just for the procedure,” he warned her before pressing a hypospray against her throat to deliver the drug.

When she relaxed, he carefully inserted the tool in her ear and connected it to the implant. Pressing a button, he started the virtual memory swipe and replaced the Federal program by his own version. It took a few minutes during which he just monitored her status. At last, he withdrew the tool and proceeded to clean everything he’d used and put it back where it belonged while Elem emerged from the sedation.

“How do you feel?”

Elem turned her head in Sokal’s direction, a wide, drowsy smile on her lips.

“Absolutely wonderful,” she answered rather fondly, sighing heartily, “Did it go well?”

“I believe so,” he took another glance at the monitor before looking back at her. “This,” he showed an earpiece, “might come in handy later on, when the program starts running. It will allow you to stop the program for a while, so you can take breaks. If you don’t, you’ll likely end up with a headache from the mental strain,” he explained. “You can connect the earpiece to a PADD if you want to access further commands, such as the timer, to-” he interrupted himself and chuckled. “Oh, well, we can see the details tonight. For now, I just need to finish cleaning the room. If you want more tea meanwhile, that’s possible,” he showed the boiler.

Elem took the earpiece in her hands and looked it over with fascination.

“You made this yourself?” she asked, impressed, “I didn’t know you had talent for this! How does it work?”

“I didn’t do anything special, really!” he denied, “I just followed guidelines of someone else’s study,” he minimized although he reckoned the use of the earpiece was his idea.

Truly, he’d thought of it by looking at the listing of the Vulcan-Trill’s belongings (sheer interest in alien medical tools at first), and was intrigued by a similar item supposedly used to deactivate certain functions of his translator while learning Kardasi. It was Vulcan technology, something a Cardassian didn’t get to see often – a pity the Obsidian Order had to confiscate everything, Sokal would have liked to observe this further…

“As for how it works, I think it’s quite simple. It communicates with the implant just like a PADD would with a computer, although in a very short distance. From what I read, Federal translators can only be hooked in close range like that, probably to avoid massive hijacking,” he grinned at the idea. “There  _ was _ more research in that direction, I believe, but most of it was classified by the military.”

Elem purred at those details and attached the device to her ear.

“Short-range radio link, then,” she appreciated and watched Sokal amble around, “very smart, sexy utilization of hardware, Mister Dain. You’re rather brilliant, aren’t you?”

“Grandmother taught me one or two things, but I’m not sure I would call it brilliance, really. I’m just a Cardassian doing his duty,” he flashed his teeth, a bit smug.

They flirtatiously talked of having some science project together in the future, much to Elem’s enjoyment. Soon, Sokal was done tidying up and they could leave the Bureau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	17. II - Words in the wind

#  Words in the wind

They had a nice little lunch in Torr, in a cozy restaurant of a cultural district. The place was dimly lit, warm, with tables set in alcoves (that might have been a little reminiscent of detention cells in their design, although a lot more pretty and comfortable) and the food was served quite elegantly. The place being themed with games, even the menu held riddles and little enigmas to let the customers patient playfully before being served. Laughter spiced the meal all the more, and it tasted all the better.

Satiated and entertained, they made their way to the culture shop, walking through alleys bordered with decorative trees and artistic fountains – according to Sokal, this was one of the most pleasant parts of Torr. There was culture everywhere, and Elem could certainly fathom that they weren’t so far from where Nall had taken her and the children.

The shop was a somewhat larger building with several levels and terraces. There was obviously some sort of teahouse as well, as some people could be seen enjoying a book and a cup of something in the sunny warmth. Inside, everything was tidy and clearly very functional. Checking the map in the entrance, Sokal identified in just a second where to find what they were looking for, up to the exact shelf. As they neared it, people became more scarce.

Elem was still dwelling on a joke Sokal had made over lunch, when they came across an all-too-familiar man. Dressed in rather elegant blue and grey clothes, he was leaned against a wall, not far from their destination, reading a PADD. He raised an eye on the couple and smiled, straightening up and removing his feet from the way.

“Sorry,” Setik apologized.

“It’s nothing,” Sokal smiled back as they passed.

“I like your suit,” Elem added a cheerful comment, sending him a frown that Sokal couldn’t see, because he was on her other side.

“Why, thank you,” Setik replied with gleeful amusement. “I like yours too,” he, however, looked at Sokal instead. “Very… suiting.”

He grinned and moved a bit further away while Sokal started to inspect the shelf for the books he was looking for, thinking that this shameless man could probably use some of them, really.

While the Notator wasn’t looking, Setik shot a glare at Elem, as an order to approach and come over to the nearby terrace. Elem inhaled longly and steeled herself, approaching Setik rather stiffly, her shoulders raised a bit. The terrace didn’t feel exactly safe, and she couldn’t help but to imagine the many ways Setik could murder her right there, if he wanted to.

“So you too are a student of Cardassian manners?” she asked as casually as she could.

“In a manner of sorts,” Setik agreed. “It’s other people’s behaviors I study,” he specified while taking a PADD out of his jacket and handing it to her. “Your new personal PADD,” he explained, “you’ll find the details of your new workplace, employment, contract, complete with full terms, and all the details of your new financial account, pay, insurance, social benefits, schedules, personal identification code, and so on,” he listed quickly. “I believe you’ll find the read particularly interesting and uplifting. And useful, were anyone to ask you questions,” he kept an eye to the door, checking that Dain wasn’t approaching. “Your work will begin next week, after Reyal’s trial,” he said more reassuringly, as to pass the feeling that everything would be fine. “As for his Dain, he’s a very suitable match that I approve of. Any question until next time?”

She afforded him a smile while sliding the PADD in her bag. She had to admit that yes, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with what she was expected to do for the Order, and Setik let her explain her problem – she was below ten when she was taught how to interpret her own pain as pleasure, but a teen when she was taught how to enjoy the pain of others. At that age, it no longer was possible to assimilate such violent, immoral experiences as ‘normal’ and was thus traumatic. Despite now having a constructive purpose, she wasn’t certain she could be completely relaxed.

“I know that for conditioning to work, I have to be entirely and completely at ease with what I do. And I’m stressed. So I think you can see my predicament.”

“Well, I believe we can fix that,” he said although he wasn’t entirely certain. Not that she needed to know about that right away. He smiled. “Now, is it all or is there anything else troubling you?”

“Other than the fact that I’ll have to change my hairstyle? No, not really,” she looked at Setik’s hairline, a bit envious. “Will you come see me often? Like this, I mean.”

He chuckled silently.

“I don’t hope so,” he admitted. “I believe you are talented for encryption. If there is anything else, contact your employer through this PADD with a secure comlink. I may not be the one to answer or contact you, but if you  _ really _ have concerns about your future hairstyle, please,  _ do _ share them,” he gestured at her bag then straightened up and took a step back. “There are some hairdressers I could no doubt recommend you,” he added as Sokal entered the terrace.

The young man stepped closer, eyeing Setik with slight suspicion but a polite attitude in case the stranger wouldn’t be so innocent as his appearance gave to think.

“Making friends?” he glimpsed at Elem then back at Setik. “I am Notator Dain,” he introduced himself.

“Eran Sidik, just a filing clerk,” Setik answered, acting only slightly embarrassed about the status he’d picked. “I hope you don’t mind me talking with your friend? She’s new in the city, I gather?” he showed his sleeves. “Kebran Deved,” he commented. “She inquired.”

“A fine designer,” Sokal appreciated then looked at Elem, showing some rods. “I believe I found what we were looking for.”

“Then we are done here, I believe?” she looked from Sokal to Setik, then nodded goodbye to the latter.

Sokal opted to act as if that encounter hadn’t even happened, just to stay on the safe side.

“This is a holographic program,” he told Elem, showing the rod. “If you’d like, we could go to the arcades and try it together already, see if my manners are actually any good for a Cardassian?” he proposed with humor.

She laughed, teasing him gently, and he had to admit he’d used such programs before – “I’ve never been really good at smiling,” he confessed, “As a child I didn’t really smile, and the way I displayed joy was…” he stopped, unsure he should share that, really. “I just hope my children will be more conventional in this regard,” he cleared his voice and shut up.

“So... you hope your children will be more... normal?”

“All Cardassians hope for their children to be normal,” he said rather factually. “I’m certain my children will come out wonderful and promising  _ as I did _ ,” he nuanced. Although he did share his wish for them to be maybe a bit more competent in social skills than he used to be. “But if it’s not the case, I suppose my own experience will be beneficial to their education. After all, seeing where I come from and where I am now, that does give good hope that one who was very much lost can still be found. It’s all a matter of perseverance and good parental support,” he smiled as they went down the hall.

It was rather calm at this hour – a moment between shifts, when people had to get back to work or were leaving work and not present yet. They walked out in the streets and Elem thought she should probably tell him at last. Tell him what a stupid, clueless child she used to be, how she hadn’t even been capable of identifying bullying…

“...So now you know. I’m not very clever-  _ wasn’t _ very clever.”

His lips formed a O, but where Elem would have expected shock, disgust or contempt, his eyes gleamed with interest and satisfaction.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, then realized how that must have sounded and blushed embarrassedly. “I mean, it makes  _ sense _ ,” he toned it down, going onto explaining how certain children appeared to be a bit behind others, but could grow up to develop great talent and proficiency in certain areas – as Elem did with engineering. “ _ If _ you are one such, as I am starting to suspect, then you truly are a gift to us all, and your children are indeed likely to bear your intelligence, although it may express in somewhat different aptitudes,” he told passionately.

“So that’s why you’re interested in me,” she figured slowly – his motives were becoming more clear to her, and somehow it was a relief, as it lessened the pressure on her to respond to his feelings – “because you think I’m gifted, and because you’d like to have gifted children. I see.”

“That’s not why I’m  _ interested _ , that’s why I’m  _ attracted _ ,” he corrected. “Don’t you have some reaction to certain people at times, like an instinctive fascination? A feeling that a connection is possible between you and them, like you… belong with them…?” he asked.

“The closest to that I ever felt was for...” she closed her mouth and shook her head, not very willing to talk of Maniel, “but I was just a teen back then. And it wasn’t romantic.”

“Your luzzur?” Sokal figured, speaking with great softness and gentle care. “It can count, I believe. But I maintain the position I’ve always held, because I am no liar, Elem. I hadn’t planned on growing feelings, and I know that they aren’t fair, neither to you nor I. They are crude, raw; a passionate attraction. But this is why I wanted to know you better, to know if I should follow those instincts. To maybe fall in love in a more intellectual way. I like you, I feel drawn to you, and I can see that in all logic, there are many reasons for me to agree in pursuing you. But I don’t want it to be about reason. Love isn’t about reason. I want to… find a balance,” he shared.

“I  _ do _ think we’re sexually compatible,” she straightened up again and continued walking them forward, slowly and in pace with their conversation, “and I like the dynamic we have in those situations, the... balance, as you put it.” But she had to admit, courting did take away the mystery that made her lover appealing, although she understood the necessity of knowing each other better for a more long-term relationship. The notion did wound him a bit, but he didn’t show his hurt.

“I believe it is easier to love someone if you do not know them too well. If they remain at a safe distance – or perhaps even more, an  _ un _ safe distance. Does that concern you?” she asked further. “I’m vulnerable, should anyone seek to take advantage of me... but then, I always expect people do what they do for their own gain.”

“I don’t know,” he said, only to stall for time enough so to analyze the feelings into play, figure what he thought about this.

Silence settled for a while longer than he meant, and he ended up jolting back to consciousness again. He tried to hide his distraught behind a jest or two, and smiled patiently over the notion that, it made sense that she’d be more interested in what he had to offer than in who he might be. Maybe they didn’t need to know each other to function – that was probably how Obsidian people kept their relations, simply addressing the practical matters of life one after the other.

Elem didn’t answer immediately either. She  _ had _ noticed the change in atmosphere, but she wasn’t sure what she could even do about it – it wasn’t as if she could lie to him and tell him she loved him, when she honestly wasn’t sure she felt anything such for him.

“I didn’t mean I don’t want to know you,” she tried to mend some of the hurt, but it was difficult to rephrase what she meant, “it’s just that I... like the unspoken better. Mutual understandings, subtleties… With my luzzur,” she switched to thinking of Garak, not Maniel, “I understood things about him that he never told me, and I never inquired either, and that was fine. In fact, I’m not sure we ever truly knew each other, but it was this lack of knowledge that made the experience so intimate. He didn’t love me, but I didn’t mind, and we still had decent sex when we had it,” she shrugged and then sighed. “I don’t want to be this way, it’s everything I wish I wasn’t – I want to be loyal and in love with my future life-partner, to be only with them, but... I’m starting to doubt that that’s even possible.”

“I suppose playing pretend makes it all harder, and maybe we should give up on that,” Sokal nodded and stopped to better mark his words. “Just be yourself. Just… do what you want, and let’s see where that takes us,” he started walking again, looking ahead more than at her. “I can play pretend in bed, but I don’t want to play pretend with my feelings. I don’t want to live in an illusion.”

He wasn’t humoring her anymore, only maintaining his own dignity.

“Let’s just continue this day as friends, acquaintances,” he said. “If you feel like sleeping with any man who talks to you the way you like it and can let his acts follow his words, then that’s it. I don’t mind. Pursue whoever you want, including myself if you ever feel like it, be it just for sex, or for more someday,” he vaguely shrugged, “but if I ever propose to you, I want you to know that my only condition will be that you sire no bastard if you see other males.”

Elem felt more at ease with this behavior, even though what Dain said made her feel bad about herself. She almost wanted to cry, because the implication that she’d never be faithful sounded worse when the words came from Sokal than they had when she’d been the one to speak.

“Sokal, I-” she cut herself short and looked around – they were easy to spot once you expected to see them, the cameras of the Obsidian Order. Finally, she took hold of his wrist and forced them both to a stop: “I’d rather speak about this somewhere  _ private _ . I think I’ve gathered enough about Cardassian culture to understand that certain topics do not belong out in the open, and I don’t want to risk that this intimate topic gets overheard by passerbyers. Dain...”

He wriggled his wrist free, but only to catch her hand. Although he didn’t know what to expect yet, he liked the attitude, he liked the way she’d pronounced her first name in this hurried manner.

“Come,” he dragged her along, letting go of her hand with regret.

 

Finding a safe spot in this place wasn’t the easiest, but Sokal knew of some areas that were harder to monitor due to the wind. Cardassian architecture was wonderful, but it did have this flaw that some buildings almost seemed designed to create gusts of air.

Two persons were sitting in the small windy square to which he took Elem, talking to each other in muffled voice. When they caught sight of the newcomers, they hurried to finish their discussion and both left before any word could be heard.

“This should do,” he murmured. “I hope you’re not cold,” he let the both of them lean and rest their crossed arms on a small wall, since all the benches had been removed ages ago.

Elem looked out over the cityscape, avoiding to the best of her efforts to look down beneath. Once she felt settled into the area, and reassured that whoever was watching them only did so from very far away, she looked at Dain. The wind had no effect whatsoever on his hair; but she could easily imagine how it would have been, had he just been a little bit more disorderly. He would’ve been impressive, like a bird of prey on the hunt.

“Back on the space station you know as Terok Nor, I met a Cardassian, a tailor,” she told him in a hushed voice, creeping closer to him. “He was the one who helped me research the identity of my father, but above all, he assisted in saving my life at least once,” she looked out over the landscape below, “and he was also the one to uncover the nature of my body. That I’m not male,” she made the mistake of looking down, instantly feeling a little bit uneasy with the height. “I believe he was stranded there against his will. Exiled. Father mentioned a trial. I  _ think _ he’d been convicted for murder, or something similar,” she looked back at Dain, “and I also suspect he might be a former member of the Obsidian Order. Not that I asked him. I didn’t need to. But I loved him,” she looked away and a childish shame placed darkness on her cheeks and neck, “and he called me luzzur. And we did have an affair, at least sexually. He didn’t love me, still doesn’t, while I did, and still do. I have been meaning to send him a package; I asked him before leaving if there was anything I could do for him – he just wanted simple things. Food, a nice holoprogram of something like the place where you took me... mundane, but very Cardassian things,” she looked down again, even though she knew full well she shouldn’t. “But I’m concerned, because I am not sure how I’ll be able to do it. The Order is watching me  _ very  _ closely, I’m not sure they would much approve if I were to stay in contact with Elim, especially so considering I... I am supposed to be working for them.” She looked at Dain again, wondering if he’d already figured it out, or what his reaction would be like.

He wanted to laugh, probably to let go off some stress as his suspicions were confirmed, but he refrained, grinning instead. He didn’t mind, he resolved to share, although he understood the implications concerning children, but he respected the Order and its necessity. He prefered not to think of risks too much, asking about ‘Elim’ instead, amused and curious about the similarity of his and her names.

She nodded and grinned a little. Somehow, she wished he was just a little bit less capable, a little bit more vulnerable, so she’d have a reason to feel protective.

“Elim Garak,” she specified, then shook her head, “but you should send the package to Doctor Julian Bashir; he’s smart enough that he’ll figure out who it’s for.” She stroked Dain’s fingers, “I  _ hope _ you realize how much more fortunate than him you are even if I love him. He’s there and I’m here. We probably won’t meet again, anyway... Impractically enough, that only seems to solidify my feelings for him. I thought I was  _ good _ at getting rid of my feelings.”

“Now  _ that _ reassures me that you’re still a little bit normal,” he teased. “I don’t mind your feelings for him. It’s all so recent after all. It took me years to get over Saima, and even now, she’s still very dear to me, a luzzur of sorts,” he smiled bittersweetly. “I’ll contact Doctor Bashir,” he cut short the emotion. “He had a role to play in your health status, hm?” he casually let her know he knew before returning to the topic of Garak and the Obsidian Order.

“I’m not sure I believe in ‘former’ agents of the Order. It’s a lifetime commitment for all I know,” he thought to share, and Elem couldn’t help but to feel a bit dizzied by that notion. “To exile one would be to run the risk that they’d betray the Union…” Sokal nodded. “Maybe we’ll see your friend Elim around here again someday,” he smiled.

“I hope so, but I’m afraid that once that happens, he’ll be too old to found a family. Not that he’d ever found one with me,” she added meaningfully and wiggled her toes in her boots. “ He deserves to be with someone he can love... but I do hope he’ll be allowed back. He... he’s a Cardassian. A very fundamental one, I believe,” she smiled and squeezed Sokal’s hand. “And you, what would you do? If Saima were to return in this fashion. If you could found a family with her, even after all this time? You did say she was working on a treatment. She might just find one – never underestimate the intellect of a motivated woman. That’s what Savras used to say.”

“That’s complicated,” he admitted, and continued only because he knew the camera couldn’t pick his voice: “Sometimes I wish we could get enjoined to more than one person. We have to choose only one person, only one gender, only one hairstyle when it comes to us, males,” he laughed. “Isn’t it a bit absurd? It’s for the greater good, of course, for order… But sometimes if feels silly. I don’t like when it does, because it’s not going to change either way. _Even_ _if_ civilians ever were to  succeed at toppling the Central Command, they won’t care about such things,” he shrugged. “Those are among the few things _I_ would care about. The things that make people sad and miserable inside, the things that force a man like Glain to have sexual intercourse he doesn’t desire in order to validate his place in society, the things that force Dayar to become the woman he never wanted to be, the things that force Elem to hide Melekor… and the things that drove Saima to disassociate from Sokal,” he sighed. “She left me, Elem. No matter how much I tried to reason with her, she left me and told me to find someone else. If I enjoin someone else and she finds a cure for herself, then I’ll wish her the same she did me. To find someone else too.”

“Cardassia isn’t all I hoped it would be,” Elem confessed.

Her eyes stung a bit, and she felt a pain in her stomach, of the sort that laid awfully close to fear.

“I thought she would be better than where I came from, and in many ways, she is... I like Cardassia, I like her people, I like you... but your society is harsh and so forceful, and I don’t understand why. Why be so  _ cruel _ when everyone here wishes to do well, anyway? Why this need to dominate and bend even small, insignificant details that don’t matter anyway?”

Sokal thought about it, and it was difficult to come with a good answer, although the wind made it easier to speak.

“We are too good, too tender and feeble for our own sake, Elem. There are some people who think the military shouldn’t be in charge, that more funds should be dedicated to science, medicine, education, environmental researches,” he thought of Freyar’s sweet daughter and smiled. “I think they’re right, but those are only aspects of the problems. It’s going to treat symptoms, not the disease. And when we take the symptoms away, it gets all the harder to diagnose the real issue. And the real issue is that we are so easy to lead astray. We are devoted, indeed, but can you see how dangerous it can be if our minds were to be seduced by something wrong?” he shivered as he neared the topic. “There are people, Elem, people who are the worst criminals of all… people who live in the dark and try to drag others into it, to turn their love away from the light of the State to whisper lies in the dark. Civilians are especially vulnerable to those chants of deceit. If the military’s power were to be reduced, then it is the Obsidian Order that should grow to protect us from those shadows. It would mean more surveillance, more invasion of our privacy, more paranoia too, I’m afraid. Right now, we have a balance. The price is high, very high, of course, because the military drags us down, away from progress both scientific and intellectual… But were the odds different, I’m not sure we would be safer. There is a danger in each one of us, a voice one must never listen to. The State is the one and only thing that matters. View it not as cruelty, Elem, but as kindness, and embrace it,” he smiled weakly. “Isn’t the abuse enjoyable when you think you want it?”

Elem squinted a bit at the lack of logic in that.

“So you’re telling me that you enjoy that Saima left you?” she snorted a bit and shook her head. “Somehow, I really don’t think the Cardassian society would be any less safe if people were allowed to have slightly longer, or shorter, hair.”

Sokal snickered at that, looking at Elem fondly.

“I like your quick mind,” he said. “Of course, this discussion is purely intellectual; I wouldn’t be such a fool as to actually agree to such things to the Order,” he still had to protect himself. He felt a little sad for Elem, still: “I wish this world would have been more satisfying for you, but I’m certain it’s just a matter of time. Coming from the Federation, you must see all the things you had there, took for granted, perhaps, and no longer can find here… But you’ll get used to it and I’m sure you’ll see it’s not so bad. People are overall happy in Cardassia,” he pointed. “It could be better of course, but it could also be a lot worse,” he laid some of his fingertips against hers and closed his eyes just a second to better enjoy the contact.

“If I were to fall in love with you, Sokal, it  _ would _ be worth it entirely,” she leaned against him and looked up at the sky beyond. “All I ever wanted was to be constructive, to be useful and have a definitive role. Perhaps I will have that here, but I’m not sure I’ll ever feel fulfilled, that I’ll ever escape the feeling that my entire life has been a waste of potential, and that when I die, it will have been as if I never lived.”

“I really hope not,” he blew. “I told you that these are times of change. I still don’t believe that the civilians have  _ any _ chance of toppling over the Central Command, but things aren’t always about who’s in power. Ideas make their way, and  _ some _ of the rumors the general population gets to hear aren’t actually so bad. In fact, they’re even good for some of them, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some daring officials decided to give them a chance, for the best of Cardassia. I think we’re changing, Elem,” he admitted. “The Withdrawal was a turning point, a sign that people want something else, something more sustainable for the future. And now that that wormhole was discovered not so far away, I can’t believe it won’t change a large number of things for this entire quadrant. Maybe we’re going to discover new materials, new organisms that will change so much in matter of technology and medicine,” he shared his optimism. “It’s only the beginning, we tread cautiously, but in two years, five years, ten years… who’s to say Cardassia won’t become entirely different due to a technological and social revolution induced by the wormhole?” he grinned. “Maybe Saima will have found a cure for infertility, maybe females won’t be sheltered as much as they are now, maybe you and Dayar can finally reach the stars! Tomorrow holds so much for us to look forward to!”

“Savras once told me that, the more things change, the more they stay the same,” Elem punctured Sokal’s bubble, and she wasn’t very gleeful about doing it, but she couldn’t help it. “It’s been her observation – and she’s seen a lot – that the more a society evolves, the more people tend to stick to tradition. Because what’s familiar is comfortable, and change is only ever fascinating as long as it’s on the other side of the window,” she looked at him, then daringly laid a hand at his cheek, and undid part of his hairdo, so that two strands of his black mane escaped their orderly place to be captured by the wind.

He let her do, musing over her words. Was it better to hope for something that may never come, or to live in the grim idea that nothing would ever change?

“Who is Savras?” he finally decided to inquire, feeling his hair flowing in the breeze but not minding it so much.

“A friend,” Elem answered distantly as she toyed with the strands of hair she’d freed from their orderly bondage, “she used to be a freelancing, critical journalist back on Trill. She was exiled from there around the time I went here,” she smiled and made some distance to watch at the mess she’d made. Sokal looked like a rebellious creature now, even if in a subtle way.

“Exilees, agents, terrorists, alien doctors…” he enumerated, “you  _ do _ have mysterious acquaintances…” His attitude was a bit smug, slightly amused and predatory, probably more so that was reasonable. “It’s a good thing  _ I _ am a most reasonable person with no ties to any terrorist or exilees whatsoever. I don’t think family ties with the Order count, considering agents cut ties with their family – oh, they may see them, they may even act like part of the family, but if they  _ were _ to be ordered to kill them, they  _ would _ . Thus, I guess it’s a family’s duty, when one of them joins the Order, to do everything so this may never happen, because it certainly must be more painful for the agent to drag down their own. I personally would hate to put them in such a position someday. Or you,” he almost touched her face, tracing the line of her cheekbones, fingers hovering close to her skin. “You are one more reason for me to stay irreproachable.”

“I wish I weren’t,” Elem admitted after a while of sensing the warmth of Sokal’s hand, “I wish I could indulge you in sins and wrongs as dark as the night, whispers full of poison and ideas of corruption and filth,” she smiled as sunnily as the day, “and then, when you’ve been made to see what manner of creature I am, you could correct me... physically,” she suggested with a sultry voice. It was Sokal’s own fault for being handsome like he was.

“Do you mean to say that you’d rather we indulge in an interrogation chamber program at the holosuite?” he frowned a little, speaking close to her lips. “Doesn’t mean I’ll be less irreproachable when we come out… An interrogator gets to hear a lot of ...things. Lies, poison and dirt… But he remains clean,” he grinned with cruel confidence, fingers moving slowly, teasing and evasive.

Elem felt hot and bothered, but not in a way she objected to. The way he almost touched her was perhaps the most pleasurable part, and for that reason, she fought her own desire to close the distance, even though her breathing got more ragged, and her whole body more receptive to every sense of touch she  _ did _ receive.

“That’s another definition of teaching me some manners,” she approved with an equal purr, eyes closed halfway, comforting herself in the heat between them, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To keep me rugged and unmannered and entirely to yourself, so I’d have to rely on you to interact with the outside world – to neglect my lessons in favour of your own.  _ Interrogator _ Dain – more like Pet-keeper Dain.” Elem chuckled a bit at the concept, which wasn’t entirely unalike... “There’s music about these kind of things, you know. I believe I brought some, and I  _ don’t _ think the Order confiscated it. At least not yet.”

“You vicious little thing,” he growled in a low voice, teasing the underneath of her jaw, the proximity of her neck scales, “you come here like a virus but a good fever will cleanse you.” His voice faltered as he felt a sudden shiver and an attempted movement in his pants, thankfully concealed by his underwear. He had to gulp to alleviate a bit the hoarseness of his voice.

“I wouldn’t mind to play those games… I wouldn’t mind to punish you and fuck you, but I must also warn you that it wouldn’t be like last time. I’ve undergone some ...personal medical care,” he admitted. “I thought I could trade bloodying your insides for strangulation and beatings.”

Elem lost her momentum as she claimed his lips for a fiery but brief kiss, digging her fingers in his hair, clawing at his skull so he couldn’t escape her – there she was, dragging him down forbidden paths, and there he was, hurling himself after her.

“Elem!” he breathed her name in outrage but fished for another kiss, “We can’t do this!” He put distance between them, holding her still, and finally glanced around. “We can be thankful nobody saw this…” he realized, leaning against the wall again, pretending to look at the view so passerbyers who may happened by wouldn’t get a chance to notice the bulge at his crotch. He needed to calm down before they could go anywhere.

“That was… possibly the most illegal thing I’ve ever done…” he confessed. “It was ...very hot.”

They weren’t going anywhere before their necks retrieved a more proper color either. He’d about forgotten about the state of his hair flowing freely until he realized some strands had glued themselves on his forehead. He must be quite a disorderly sight, he realized, glancing at Elem. So was she, and it did nothing to make her less appealing.

“I never thought I’d ever be this attracted to someone so unruly!” he laughed brightly. “I never imagined this trait could be so intoxicating… but then, I’d never met someone unruly in this very unique way of yours. It’s impossible to get bored for even a second with you, it’s like falling through an endless dream filled with marvels and horrors alike, mysteries and beauty entwined,” he observed her. “I should probably be afraid, but I’m not. I want it and I want to give you the same.”

Elem’s laughter glimmered like beads of water near a waterfall as she turned to him again. She wasn’t sure what she felt, but it was joyous and fresh.

“You mean to tell me that those three-foursomes you had were entirely legal?” she glinted towards him, amused and enthused, “Why, I would’ve thought there would be strict rules against such... sexually provocative habits. Finally, something to make Cardassia spicy again – Cardassia, the Union of law, order and orgies.”

He looked at her with confused horror before bursting in laughter.

“But it wasn’t in a public space!” he corrected. “It… wasn’t illegal either, though…” he realized. “I don’t think we have a law prohibiting such conduct in private space… Nobody must have thought of making an explicit statement about this, although it doesn’t match with the description of sexual intercourse either. I guess there’s some kind of juridic void there,” he admitted, “...which makes you ...possibly right,” he conceded and laughed. “Don’t tell anyone that! It would constitute into an immoral statement and an insult to the State. We don’t mock the State nor any of its representations or symbols.”

Then he added in a more embarrassed tone and lower voice: “I’m not supposed to tell about it, but when I was a student, there was this person who had issues and lost it entirely one day. I’m not sure why exactly, but she… did something to the school’s flag, and when she hauled that day, we all saw that the Union’s emblem had been ...made to look like female parts. We never saw nor heard of her ever again. There was no trial either. I did all I could to forget, but… every once in awhile I can’t help but think of it again, and it’s very hard not to laugh.”

“It’s not an insult, it’s flattery,” Elem insisted, though she was giggling a bit.

When she finally calmed down, she imagined the flag, and burst into another lengthy giggle. She imagined it was the kind of thing Savras could’ve done, and was instantly grateful that she hadn’t grown up in Cardassia, or she would’ve probably ended up gone, too.

Finally, the wind became softer. Even the city itself started to calm down, sounds becoming more muffled, the most noticeable ones being from broadcasts further away, though the sound was so distorted nothing said could truly be heard.

“I wish you could fuck me right here, while I watch the sun go down and paint the world in rosen red and velvet orange,” she said plainly.

Dain blushed vividly at that notion, but at least he’d managed to recover most of his composure.

“That’s another thing we could do in the holosuite. Of course, it’s not the same, I know… but I suppose other people would be grateful not to walk in on us,” he sighed and led them out of the square.

“So, I take it I should try to get a house in Paldar with a very nice view, so we can do it by the window, where we can see all and none can see us?” he grinned. “Rokat’s borough is actually quite good in that regard, there are opportunities… I wonder if there are houses available too,” he joked and led the way to the Arcades.

Thankfully, the discussion resumed to something more tame and proper, which was more appropriate for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	18. II - Manners and disorder

#  Manners and disorder

The area’s name made sense, given the architecture. Arches were typical in Cardassian buildings of course, but the borough featured many arcades and gateways laying on arches forming elegant patios underneath. There was a higher concentration of holosuite establishments in between restaurants, tailor shops, hairdressers and other cosmetic establishments.

Sokal dragged Elem through a beauty shop to look at the makeup and at some catalogs to observe the photos of “scientific” and “practical” women types. The settings weren’t artificial, as actual persons were modeling for their profession – each photo had a paragraph about the icon in it. “To inspire us to strive toward success,” Sokal explained briefly before asking Elem if she preferred the designer of fourth generation field rifles or the inventor of Cardassia’s most powerful warp engine.

After buying her some perfume and eyeliner, they moved onto a holosuite establishment. It was classy enough but not too upper class – respectable, was the feeling it gave. The datarod was scanned and accepted, and they were led to the room.

The inside appeared to look like a very elegant room with a view on a sunny park. A woman and a man welcomed them most elegantly as well. They looked like teachers and were all too familiar to Sokal who had already undergone similar training programs.

“Greetings, Your Velar, Your Birak,” he nodded to the woman and to the man.

They smiled.

“Welcome to this course in good Cardassian manners,” Velar gestured at them to step a little closer. “Do you know what you would like to improve about your manners or would you rather pass a test to identify your aptitudes?”

Elem tore her attention from the surrounding room, leaning a bit closer to Sokal.

“How about you test yourself first, and I get to see how it’s done? You  _ are _ my master, after all,” she teased.

The holograms looked at her with outrage and Sokal had to put a little distance between them for them to calm down.

“We can do that, I suppose,” he agreed.

He introduced himself to Birak who quickly took him in apparté, talking in more hushed voice to remark about his looks – “I apologize, it must have been more windy than I thought,” Sokal quickly slicked his hair back. “Anything else?”

The hologram looked to be in slight pain but hopped onto the test, having him walk, talk with him and other holograms – younger and older family members who ended up arguing in private space, then in public, and then came someone who was supposed to be Dain’s colleague, then a Gul Something happened by, and for a moment, Sokal thought it would end in court. The test ended before that happened, leaving the young man extremely puzzled as to why all those holograms seemed repeatedly outraged by him.

“Well, that’s quite not-so-bad,” Birak evaluated.

“What!? I didn’t do anything so wrong!” the Notator didn’t take too kindly to be insulted by a hologram. The nerve!

“Your Dain, this reaction is quite improper!”

“Well, your judgement is quite improper too!”

“Your Dain, you cannot say this!” Velar intervened. “I hate having to tell such a thing, but for  _ your sake _ you should realize that this behavior, just like your looks, are more befitting of a comfort woman.”

The look on the Notator’s face was scandalized.

“This is insane!” he burst. “ _ I _ , befitting of a comfort woman!?  _ I!? _ And what is wrong with you!?”

“You are not helping your case in being so adversarial and heated,” the holographic woman tried to calm him down and threw a chastising glance to Elem who was crying from laughter. “Those  _ scales _ of yours are highly improper too.”

Now that was really, really rude. Elem gave him a compassionate pat on the shoulder.

“You should’ve told them you’ve got that syndrome thing, I bet your parents arranged for it to be included in the calculation for you,” she sent him an especially sorry look. “If it makes any difference to you,  _ I _ think you’re very elegant and proper. Especially that first time I met you – even though your smile is a bit creepy,” she admitted, then cleared her throat to challenge herself into taking the test, turning to the two holograms. “Would it be possible for me to add into the equation that I’m a complete beginner?” she asked rather weakly.

“Most certainly,” Velar smiled before taking her in a small apparté to comment about the shortness of the hair and provide advice about ways to grow it nicely through a healthy diet and good choice of shampoo.

The rest of the test was quite similar to the one Sokal had undergone, although the holographic characters weren’t outraged at her hair but rather worried about the causes of its shortness, which they seemed to assume stemmed from an accident or a disease. It was exhausting for Elem to pour so much energy into trying to pick the subtle patterns and integrate herself into them, yet it wasn’t much different compared to what she’d been through outside the holosuite. There  _ were _ three awkward incidences during which she had failed to pick up on flirtatious behavior, and subsequently she’d slapped two of the men – one for suddenly trying to kiss her, and the other for groping her leg in a rather indecent manner. By the time the third came across, she realized, albeit a bit late, where it was going, and was able to fend him off with words that time (although, as Velar put it, she could have chosen better ones). The most difficult things for Elem were body language – she kept reading it wrong, and expressing herself wrong, and when it came to a simulated dinner, it seemed as though everything she did was incorrect; she was slouching in her chair too much, holding the cutlery wrong, eating things in the wrong order, and apparently adding sauce on that particular dish had been a vulgar choice, at which she’d gotten upset enough to ask why the option existed if it wasn’t going to be viable anyway.

At the end, her sum-up wasn’t much better than Sokal’s, albeit for entirely different reasons.  _ And _ she was exhausted.

“I don’t understand how you’d want to be seen  _ anywhere _ with me,” she complained to him in a dejected voice, “and I don’t understand how I’m ever supposed to learn all of this, it’s so much.”

“Well, it’s a lot to ingest  _ at once _ , but it’s like a language. There are patterns, and once you start to pick them, the rest follows more easily. It’s the basics that are difficult,” he assured. “I had it hard too, if I should be honest, and this program is a bit too strict, really,” he glared at the holograms. “Was that really beginner level?” he squinted but didn’t care to hear the answer. “There must be some kind of flaw in the code. Those things happen with public rods: they get used so much that they get corrupted if they are repeatedly used in holosuites with malfunctions. I honestly don’t think you did any bad at dinner with  _ my _ family, and they aren’t completely forgiving either. If you pass  _ their _ test, that’s good enough for me,” he gave his opinion. “But you do have issues to pick up subtle flirting if you’re not already trying to flirt,” he remarked. “Is it because you don’t think anyone would flirt with you?”

Elem shrugged and took a chair that conveniently stood next to them, sitting there and folding her hands in her lap, inviting Sokal to sit too while the holograms took a bit of distance to offer them privacy in talk.

She had to admit and explain that, for one, Cardassian flirting was  _ quite _ different from what she’d known in other places of the Federation, and for two, indeed, she had a hard time thinking someone would flirt with her when she’d grown up as an alien, far, far from Trillian canons of beauty.

“Even now, here on Cardassia, having to pose as  _ female _ , I don’t look very pretty as far as females go. I’m masculine: deeper voice, square angles, no hips, no breasts – not that I want them, but you get what I mean, I hope.”

“I do,” Sokal could only agree. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing, however. The likes of you are a relief for the likes of Glain. But I understand your point. Although, I do remember you mentioning you’d been pursued by others, even if you didn’t realize or didn’t believe it when it happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if more tried to flirt with you but you simply did not see it as flirting because you weren’t expecting it to be that. Like Kovat,” he gestured. “I think he doesn’t see Kelar’s attempts at flirting because he’s so persuaded to be so flawed with that piebaldism of his – and it’s true that he’s  _ quite _ a sorry sight on rainy days, poor him. A pity, really. I personally think his pigmentation is very aesthetically pleasing. Maybe because I’m flawed myself, I don’t know,” he tapped his index on his lap, thinking.

“I too, grew up knowing I’d never be considered beautiful by standards of my society, but I think I grew up with a much better sense of self-worth than you and Kovat. Beauty isn’t just about the appearance, it’s also about the inside, but it’s easy to focus on what can be seen and think the outer shell is all people care to look at. You… are a complex person, Elem, and I probably can’t understand everything about you because our cultural references aren’t the same,” he said carefully, “but in Cardassia we often consider that if the children have problems, it’s because their parents failed to understand them and provide their needs.”

Elem snorted.

“If an entire society tells you you’re ugly, then you’re ugly,” she made a sorry look. “For instance, take how Cardassia views half-Bajoran offspring,” she brought forth, asking him if he’d find such a half-breed attractive.

The Notator identified the trick question, arguing he wasn’t entirely comfortable with those whose scales looked half-finished, as if they’d never undergone puberty. Elem grinned – it  _ was _ rather delightful to watch him squirm a bit under the weight of that topic. He managed to snake his way out of the tight spot, or just about, anyway but Elem could  _ tell _ she’d caught him.

“How fortunate for the both of us that I don’t look prepubertal, youthful and sweet, but rather like an old, unfinished woman with slightly larger-than-average feet.”

Sokal laughed.

“Are we really going to play that game?” He looked at the holograms who were discussing with each other courteously. “If you really want to go down that destructive road, you may as well take out your frustration on them. Personal experience taught me that throwing food at their faces is quite rewarding.”

Elem didn’t feel as much like laughing.

“Wouldn’t have thought of it if you hadn’t brought it up,” she pointed out, and looked at them too, “How badly do you think they’d react if we started having violent sex in front of them?” – Sokal snorted at the idea.

“I- I actually don’t know. I guess there’s only one way to find out but I’m not entirely sure this is the best establishment for…” his voice died out as he wondered if he actually cared about this or not. “Is it what you really want?”

She hadn’t expected him to take the suggestion so seriously, which was both amusing and pleasant. Smiling sweetly, she got up and sat herself in his lap instead, nuzzling his cheek.

“Perhaps I do... but perhaps we shouldn’t. Wouldn’t want to...” she slid a finger over his chest, “ _ corrupt _ the program even more, hm?”

He nuzzled her sweetly, smelling her perfume and digging his fingers in her hair.

“Elem…” he purred her name, “you corrupt  _ me _ .”

He didn’t want to get violent or dominating yet, curious of the way she’d react. Instead, he stared at her, intensive in his eye contact, like trying to get inside her mind while running fingers around her neck without touching it yet, as he’d done earlier. As if she was too precious for him to touch. He wished she could feel what he felt for her, his desire, his fascination, his admiration too… His father taught him that a lot could be expressed through gazing at a victim – for several seconds she stopped breathing, looking back in those intoxicating eyes.

“You are too strong for my temptations, Mister Dain,” she told him softly, “too strong, too in control, too well-mannered, too  _ lawful _ ... sweet, innocent Sokal.”

“Is it not rather how you want me to be?” he neared her lips but didn’t kiss them.

His breath, his entire body was getting warmer, gently so. He had this nagging suspicion that she  _ wanted _ him to be this way so she didn’t have to worry about the consequences, about him falling for her in all the meanings of the word. Still, he didn’t show those thoughts, instead keeping on with his desire to make her happy, to give everything for her, to have her for himself… If he  _ had _ to share her to keep her, he would, but he truly and sincerely wished he could be hers in a unique way. He hadn’t entirely realized how much he yearned to be picked too. To be chosen. To matter to someone.

In this instant, he wanted to kiss her so fondly, to claim and be claimed. It took great discipline not to indulge and keep on teasing instead. It wasn’t just desire, it was despair. There was a profound sadness hidden somewhere behind his gaze, a need to belong, and it made him more fragile. More genuine too, maybe. His eyes got wetter somehow, more shiny, with dilated pupils while she rested in his heat, carefully brushing fingertips over his cheek and along the line of his hair, the scales of his jaw, of his ear. Such delicate lines, and yet, so very strong. The roughness of him stood in such contrast to the softness she knew he possessed.

“It’s just an observation, Sokal,” she told him in small letters, brushing his lips with her own, but not yet kissing him, “You  _ are _ such a proper Cardassian, but that’s only half of you. It is the facade that makes the other half of you  _ thrive _ , and I want you whole, true and primal. Shower me with what you know, shackle me with your greed, lead me where you wish me to follow. If I could lead you, perhaps I would, but you are wiser than me; this is your home, your rules, your domain, and I wouldn’t survive here alone. And perhaps without reason, I worry that my family will cast me out, and hope you might be there to catch me if I fall... if I should be deserving of such kindness. I am at your mercy, Sokal. You have no idea how much power you hold over me. Or perhaps you do. Do you?”

His fingers in her hair tightened on the strands they held and he smelled her face. It was his turn to brush his lips against hers, against her chin. He denied kissing her mouth, instead kissing the thin curvy ridge adorning her chin, nibbling it before following the line of it with his tongue tip, along the jaw and up the left cheek, which he licked entirely like a cat grooming its mate. She started to moan. His other hand, the right one, closed on the side of her neck, simply holding it without trying to distill pleasure in the scales.

“Do I?” he finally breathed, his left eye staring darkly into hers. “That may be true, but I don’t believe I would be the only one to catch you if you fell. I’m not the only one. Would you just happen to favor me over the likes of His Jarad who has been so helpful and loyal to you yet?” he pointed.

Her eyelids fluttered open with confusion, and she sobered up enough to sit more straight and look at him to find all the pieces of the puzzle.

“Jarad?” she asked with amusement, “Iltarel Jarad is Glain’s  _ luzzur _ , he only cares for me because he cares for Glain. If I were to fall out of favour with Glain, I’d lose his benefits too.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Sokal held her in place, ignoring the holograms clearing their throats and glaring at their unruliness. “ _ He _ may be oblivious to his body language as much as you are, but… Either way, I am not here to discuss His Jarad’s issues. I am here for you,” he softened, his right hand sliding down her heart to feel the beating there. He looked at her, bittersweet, and went to kiss her in the neck.

“But Dain,” Elem tried to hold the conversation, even though his touches were  _ quite _ distracting – his lips and his tongue turned the contact wetter, he pressed his teeth against the thin scales of her throat but didn’t really bite, although the pressure held the promise of the possibility, and he instead suckled where the skin was tender, gently so, affectionate in the care and attention – “I- I am pretty certain he’s more interested in Glain than myself, anyway,” Elem gulped.

And Glain.  _ that _ was another topic – he’d nearly kissed her again, when they’d been alone. So close. That strange friction between them that she knew better than to encourage. It was for the better that she was away from him, so he couldn’t... lust over her, or something.

“I thought you understood that attraction to one person doesn’t prevent attraction for another,” Sokal breathed against her neckscales, rocking himself against her in discrete but clearly suggestive moves. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Jarad were the sort who can’t acknowledge his own attraction to others… if he can’t even realize his attraction to his luzzur,” he murmured under her ear. “At least, I know just how much I am attracted to you… I want you, Elem. I want you in my life, in my bed, under my skin, and I want to be underneath yours just as much,” he had to wet his lips and his throat as his voice turned hoarse again. “I desire you ...by my side. I want to listen to the poison in your words, feel the vibration of your voice possess me like you obsess me, I want to be beautiful for you, to be smart and to be there. I’ll catch you when you fall, I’ll carry you when you can’t walk, and put you back on your feet so we can go on together, always. I’ll teach you to survive and I’ll learn to surrender to your disorder,” he smiled and licked the scales lining her jaw, holding her tight and lovingly.

“I want you too,” Elem’s voice had turned a bit gravelly, and she cleared it to better breathe, “I need you, Sokal. You... that someone like you feels this for someone like me, that you’d accept me, embrace me, desire me-” she blinked and finally closed her eyes, “I want you to fuck me until I’m so addicted to you that no one else could ever measure up.”

Much to the hologram’s complete horror, the man reacted at once to those words, suddenly getting up and lifting Elem up onto the table, kicking the chairs away to better sit her on the surface and kiss her wild. Velar and Birak tried to scream, “ _ You can’t do this! This is barbaric and insane! _ ” – Sokal had to tear himself from Elem, still kissing her as much as he could as he straightened up, grabbed one of the chairs and threw it at Birak who was coming closer, hitting him right in the belly with a spiteful “Piss off, already!”

The tidy-and-proper man fell and Velar had to help him back up on his feet so they could run away and hide from the aggression.

This spread a most primal and vicious smirk on the Notator’s lips, full with hungry teeth. He set his eyes on Elem, still wearing that expression, and kissed her again, invading her completely, touching her all over with lustful hands.

“I want you, I want you Elem,” he moaned in between passionate kisses and licks on her neck, on her scales, “I need you, I need you so much, you can’t even know…” a treble of hurry showed in his voice.

He spread her over the table so he could lift her dress and pull down her pants and underwear just enough to expose her from the lower belly to the middle of her laps. He traced the scales there, on her writhing hips, above and below, marveling.

“I need all this, I need you, all of you, everything…” he dove to kiss and lick those scales – map them through touch. “I’m so hungry…” he breathed hotly against her skin, making his way to her malehood. “Elem… Melekor… I want you, both of you, all of you,” he last said before silencing himself by suckling on her dick in pure greed.

Torn between surrender and disbelief, she looked down between her legs, where she could only see his hair and a little bit of his forehead. Was he really doing this to her?

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” she stammered, blushing profoundly, “I don’t want to violate you.” That comment surprised him enough to tear him from the blowjob so to look at her and recover speech.

“I like it,” he replied in blunt honesty, stroking her instead. “But if  _ you  _ don’t want me to do it…” he checked for consent, fingers writhing around her sleek member.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s that I- I don’t think it’s something someone as  _ superior to me _ as you are should do – you shouldn’t submit to me, it’s not how it’s supposed to be,” she wasn’t sure she could phrase it very well.

“I’m not submitting, Elem, I  _ take _ what I like,” Sokal grinned. “And what I like is you, and this,” he resumed to his previous occupation, enjoying the softness of the thin skin against his tongue and the strength of the organ beneath.

Elem took good advantage of the room’s soundproofing, moaning and whimpering in an almost exaggerated way, letting herself (or himself) loose in the oddly soft pleasure – which was definitively sexual, yet something else, too. For all the possessive aggression in Sokal’s voice, the embrace of his mouth was softer than silk, and the contrast in itself proved erotic. And only when Elem turned really stiff and straight to the tip did the man undo his pants to free his own dick.

“Tell me Elem, where do you want it?” he decided to ask her, because all possibilities felt good for him. “Your master asks, so be honest.”

It made her blush a bit.

“In my ass,” she answered as she couldn’t think of any other option.

“Gentle little thing…” he purred, bending forth to touch her face. His hand trailed down back to her legs and lifted them to expose her butt.

He caressed it a bit before dragging her closer to the table’s edge. He caught her penis and trapped it in between her legs, and pressed her laps more against her abdomen. Then stroked himself against her, enjoying the feeling and smooth warmth before pressing in. Gently, slowly, to ease in without too much pain. Elem however felt a little bit ridiculous, laying on this table, getting fucked in slow motion. It felt good, but it also made her feel  _ quite _ on display, and she wasn’t sure how comfortable she was being treated like this.

The lack of abuse made her uncertain of her role, and of why Sokal was doing this to her at all.

“Do you like it?” she asked, feeling stupid about herself.

“I do.”

He could feel her confusion but he didn’t allow it to kill his lust. It was just a ...different dynamic. He had to teach her.

“You will learn to like it, you will learn to like everything I do to you, Elem. I’m your master; everything I do is right,” he told her as to relieve her from responsibility, which seemed to relax her. “I will teach you well, I promise,” he grinned, starting to get more enthused by his own words and moving faster as a result, with more strength in his pounding. “Say you accept me as your master, as your teacher, as your ruler…” he moaned, growing bolder with each word.

“I do,” she moaned with the rhythm of pleasure, kneading the air above her head with her hands, seeking for something to hold onto although the edge of the table was too distant, “You’re my master, my teacher, my ruler, I want you, I need you, you’re mine,” she tried to reach the edge with her fingertips, but it wasn’t possible.

“Good…” he appreciated, starting to get rid of her shoes, pants and underwear so he could finally dive between her legs and be closer to her – she caught him in a heartbeat, legs folded around his hips, her hands in his hair and over his back, grabbing at the fabric there.

He reached for her neck to kiss her there, breathing hotly on her scales.

“I love you, I need you,” he murmured, “What’s a master without a slave, what’s a teacher without a student or a ruler without a kingdom? You make me shine, you make me complete… Together, we’re complete, each in our role…” he rocked inside her with hurried need.

“You fuck me so good,” she managed in place of breaths lost to the passion of the moment, frowning and gasping, holding and refusing to release. What she could smell of him, smelled so good – it was almost as if his scent alone could make her cum, and his tongue and lips on her neck made her dizzy. “Kiss me,  _ gehan _ , please, I need to kiss you...”

“ _ Fine _ , I will,” he moaned against her neck, “but I forbid you to come before I tell you too,” he ordered before indulging her with the kiss she asked for.

And what a kiss. He was hungry for her and dizzied by her embraced, her need for him matching so perfectly the need he had for her… Their lips parted only to allow them to take a breath before delving back into each other, wet, warm, wild and willful. He had to freeze for a moment when he came, holding to her tight and trying to restrain himself to help her hold onto his order – discipline was the key, and as a master, he had to rule himself first. He frowned in pleasure mixed with concentration, slowing down his movements to enjoy every detail, every least sensation while a ragged breath came out of his lungs.

Everything was getting to be wet and slick where they entwined.

Keeping in control was proving difficult for Elem, enough so that tears started gathering in her eyes as she dug her fingers in his back, in his neck, his hair. Moving herself under him, almost to escape him so she wouldn’t have to fight herself anymore. She couldn’t help but wonder, how was it possible that he desired her so much...? That he enjoyed her, as she was, this much? That he could take her like he took her? When he could have been with a  _ real _ Cardassian woman…

“Please,” she couldn’t resist anymore, as she imagined how Sokal could punish her for being such an impostor.

He had the reflex to ensnare the tip of her cock in his hand as soon as he felt the contraction, understanding very well what was coming, literally, but it was about late and she couldn’t help but to cum anyway, staining them both, realizing in horror that she had no idea how to get this mess cleaned up from in here. He kissed her again before straightening up to look at her, at the both of them. Now that wasn’t good.

“We’re going to have to clean this up before we exit… I don’t want a report,” he smiled tightly. “It’s my fault,” he reassured her. “I’m the one who’s supposed to have the most experience.” He went for his pocket, where he kept his comb, and used the straight edge of it to scrape cum off his clothes, then grabbed the folds of her dress to lick off what had stained them – mostly on the inside, thankfully. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot better already.

“I believe we’re going to need a stop by the bathroom as soon as we leave,” he took his handkerchief to try and clean his tunique some more before removing himself from her and cleaning his parts a little prior to returning them to the privacy of his body and his pants. He smiled at her fondly however. “I hope you’re not angry at me…”

“No, you’re the one who should be angry,” she answered evasively while putting her clothes back on, using his handkerchief to try and protect her underwear, “I disobeyed your request, and you will have to punish me.”

“Another time,” he licked his comb clean and set to reorder his hair, then hers.

The priority was to make it to the bathroom. As they crossed lone parents with a child or two, Sokal really hoped nobody would even suspect what he was guilty of, which would surely put an end to his career as Notator. He was still tensed when they exited the establishment, as if he was trying to get out with some stolen goods, and did his best to appear normal. Only once they were far enough did he exhale.

“ _ That _ was rather kinky, wasn’t it?” Elem remarked to him, thinking a bit about it. “I feel a bit bad for the holograms. They were so proper and cute. Even if they were unfair, and a bit annoying.”

The Notator was almost offended by her sense of priorities, and he certainly did not feel sorry for the rude holograms, explaining to her he’d be barred from ever notating any Cardassian child, were this to be found out – not that he was allowed to do it unless too many Notators were sick or otherwise unavailable, which had happened only once thus far…

 

After a while of silence between them, during which Elem was upset at herself for taking the risk, they reached a nice balcony overlooking the lower parts of a garden, with a fountain sitting in its center. It almost looked like the water was lava, with how the sunset was reflected there. The air was fresh, and the only sound around was that of birds chirping in the trees down in the square. Few people dotted the area, and most of them were gathered by the broadcaster, watching a woman talk about something as mundane as stew recipes.

“I like it when you are my master,” she blew into the air like a stray thought, “but you’re only comfortable being that when we have sex, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t want to be abusive, and I’m honestly not sure I could control you,” he pointed. “You’re unpredictable, which I appreciate, but you have obligations… And I don’t know what those who watch us would think of it. Indulging in those power dynamics is alike to walking on a thin thread over the void.

The answer wasn’t exactly as she’d hoped it would be, yet it wasn’t entirely negative either. Still, it made her stomach tickle in an unpleasant, anxious way.

“Then I’m not going to ask it of you, even if I want it –  _ that _ would be abusive,” she  _ had _ to be decent about this, no matter how much she wanted to react in a more desperate way.

“I’d rather we talk about those things, because I’m not sure we have the same frame of reference,” he thought of her strange reaction to the blow job he’d given her.

“I want purpose,” Elem answered immediately and spontaneously, “a context to call my own, straight-forward tasks to be mine in a meaningful way.” Sokal thought he could surely give that, yes, but before he could answer, she pointed at the squirrel-like animal she’d spotted in a tree below. “Look, isn’t that the cutest thing?” she cooed discreetly.

“It’s a culain,” he whispered to her. “They’re quite smart and very soft, very quick too, and they have a tendency to stash things away and be very defensive of them. Some say they’re a little paranoid. They don’t make very good pets because they’re very intelligent but can difficultly be tamed as their trust is very hard to earn,” he told. “Still very cute,” he smiled at her. “But do  _ you  _ really think you’d need to submit to me in order for us to function? You’ve never done something like this before and I can see so many ways it would go wrong. I’m not saying ‘no’ but I’m clearly saying ‘not so soon’ because I’d need to know you a lot better first. It’s not the sort of thing one can just dive into just like that. It’s dangerous,” he had to point. “When we were… earlier… I did this thing to you. You said you didn’t want to abuse me and I still don’t understand why,” he admitted. “I was clearly in power…”

“Just because I haven’t been the world’s biggest slut doesn’t mean I don’t know anything,” she turned her back on the garden and leaned against the railing, arms crossed in frustration and resting the small of her back against the ledge. She forced some air into her lungs, more because she wanted to talk than because she wanted to breathe, “I think it has to do with the music and stories I grew up with. Cock-sucking is never an act of the one in power, it’s something that they ask of others to give them, or force on them,” she remembered Timun for a brief moment, which made her unexpectedly nauseated. She’d been consenting then, but because her feelings for him had changed, the way she related to the memory had changed, too. “To make someone give you oral sex is an act of violence, and I don’t want to be violent to you, Dain.”

“Well. I disagree,” he said a bit nervously, checking that nobody could hear them. “Maybe that’s how it is where you came from, but here it’s not about the acts, it’s about who’s in power. I think it’s idiotic to decide arbitrarily that a practice would be inherently submissive or dominating, and I hope you agree with that… Because if you’d like to enjoy all things a male can do before your body changes, I’d quite appreciate to get  _ fucked _ by you,” he murmured the word. “If I order you to do it, then it’s an order. If I choose to impale myself on you, then it’s pleasure I take. And I think it’s all the more interesting to do those things… I can understand that one would put some sort of value in the acts, but when it comes to dynamics and sex, it has to be challenged, else it’s not creative,” he criticized. “I like contrast,” he opened his arms to show the asymmetric colors of his shirt, “I like to blend values. That doesn’t mean they become blurry.”

“I see.”

Feelings of insufficiency haunted her, and a sudden wave of uneasiness caused her to bounce off of the railing to continue their walking. Not that she was exactly sure where to go, and so she followed his movement as he walked them toward the shuttle station. How was she supposed to  _ fuck _ him, if the mere thought made her feel like she was even  _ thinking _ something that she had no right to think of? It wasn’t her place to do such things. Someone like her should submit and receive what was given, not take or indulge. If Sokal Dain valued her enough to fuck her, then that was all she needed – to think of more was  _ wrong. _ But he wouldn’t understand that, she was quite certain.

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke again. “Let’s just take the time, let’s see where that takes us, right? I just don’t want to do anything that would harm you or hurt you inside. I hope you can forgive me… I hope you can understand and trust me again,” he’d somehow shifted the topic to more personal concerns. “Elem… if you were to fall and I give you my arms to catch you… can you promise me you won’t avoid them?”

What was  _ that _ supposed to mean? Elem had to wonder.

“You expect me to fall?” she asked, rather disturbed, “Why?”

“Oh, I could be wrong, and either way, it would be very uncalled of me to develop this line of thought. All I can tell you is that no matter what happens, I’ll be there for you,” he answered evasively. The nicer Sokal was, the more Elem felt like it was somehow reminiscent of Timun.

“ _ Why  _ do you care?” she asked, suddenly turning and, with a force that surprised herself, pinned him against the wall of a house they were passing, “You say you need to know me better to be my master, yet you claim you love me – how? How do you love me if you don’t know me? How  _ dare _ you love me? If you have no idea who I am.”

That surprised him but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, although he did have a little concern for the people further in the street, and for the peacekeeper further away, who’d caught sight of them and was approaching. Well, that’s how it was going to be, Sokal figured.

“See, that’s why. I told you, you’re unpredictable! You’ve got a temper, you’re smart, you’re fun to be around with although I could probably do with less outbursts that can possibly threaten my entire career, but hopefully that’ll get better as you learn how to blend in better,” he spoke with increasing speed. “Can you let me go before that very nice man there asks us if there’s a problem?” he glanced at the officer now striding to them.

She let him go as if she’d burnt her hands on him, and backed off, glancing at the wall next to him.

“So why do you  _ let _ me do things that threaten your entire career?”

“I’m not sure, and I’d rather you don’t do those things, at least not  _ in public _ . Now I hope you forgive me for protecting what you’re endangering right now,” he hushed his voice as the officer got into hearing range. “Good evening, officer,” he saluted him.

“Care to explain me what’s going on here?” the man set cold eyes on them.

“A little bit of a cultural misunderstanding,” Sokal told, presenting his thumb for scanning.

“Sokal Dain, a Notator,” the officer raised an eyeridge at the profile appearing on his comlink. He presented it to Elem too, and she obliged with a  _ smile _ .

“I’m a Notator, yes. Bureau of Alien Affairs,” Sokal tried to ignore her misconduct, “I’m currently in charge of Her Elem Kel. She just recently gained citizenship and, as you can see, she’s still in the process of integrating in society. I’m trying to help her in this endeavour.”

The officer scrutinized her.

“Was she causing you any trouble, Notator?”

“Thankfully no, everything’s fine. Just a little miscommunication. Cultural differences… But it won’t happen again, right?” Sokal smiled at Elem as to say “ _ don’t contradict me now and be nice to the man with the armor and the phaser _ .” Much to his dismay, Elem’s smile grew into a grin that  _ could _ be interpreted as “ _ punish me already, officer _ ” if one were perverted like that.

“Only if I get to see another attractive man like this again because of it,” she chimed on, then sobered up a bit, “I’m joking, it won’t happen again, I assure you,” she clarified.

“The officer was not amused.

“Does an official representative of the State seems to you like a good subject for a joke? Joke around one of us again and we’ll find a more suitable occupation for you,” he replied flatly and turned to Dain instead. “And you, Notator, make sure it doesn’t happen again  _ indeed _ . If she’s not fit for being outside, don’t bring her outside until she knows how to behave.”

“That’s understood. We were actually heading back home.”

“Good. I’m still adding this to both your records. See that you make yourselves deserving of getting them cleaned in the future,” he pressed a button of his PADD. “Proceed.”

Sokal gulped and nodded, gesturing at Elem to come when the officer gave the way. That was a cold shower he could have done without.

“Wasn’t he just amazing?” Elem cooed to him once they were out of earshot, “And such a nice armor as well – and he had  _ a phaser _ . Did I tell you I once built a Cardassian rifle with the blueprints I dug out from Terok Nor’s computer? I bet he would’ve been impressed. Well, and then he might have shot me with my own weapon, but it would’ve been almost worth it.”

He glared at her. What was he even expecting?

“You think he would have been impressed?” he still had to reply, putting down the officer as nothing but a brainless idiot with a phaser, who probably was unfaithful and saw aliens as nothing more but things to kill, work to death or fuck. It was biased, he knew, but in that moment, he didn’t care.

Between his jealous act and the fact that he’d just lumped her together with all the other  _ aliens _ , it was difficult for Elem to pick which topic was the most interesting, but just as she was about to reply something, he interrupted her and told her to shut up until they’d be back home. She was more hurt than argumentative – Dain wouldn’t have to worry about her making a scene, she’d already planned to pretend she had a headache and go to her room and stay there for the rest of her visit. At least then, she’d be silent, and he wouldn’t have to associate himself with an alien, especially not in the open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	19. II - Chains

#  Chains

On the way back home, Dain thought of the situation he was in. Why did he care for Elem? Wasn’t it just because of her reaction to pain and the story of her suicide attempt? Thinking about that made him feel like a complete and absolute dickhole. How could he behave like this around someone who’d been so close to offing herself? He felt bad, even more so as he still wasn’t sure why exactly he liked her. It was hard to explain, hard to phrase, and maybe it wasn’t entirely logical, but he knew it wasn’t  _ just _ because of his ex-wife. And he knew one thing. He wasn’t fine with the idea of Elem being a slut with other men. He wasn’t fine with the idea of having to share her. It wasn’t like it’d been with Saima. But then again, Saima loved him. Elem didn’t. And the mere thought of it made him bleed inside.

Once home, one of the housekeepers told them they had one hour left before dinner would be ready. Sokal nodded and headed to the stairs with Elem. His grandmother tried to get their attention with a proposition to play a game or talk with her a little, but he said they were tired. She could figure something was wrong but had the politeness not to inquire.

He let Elem retreat to her room, and retreated to his own. Kicked off his boots like rarely before and went to lay on his bed. He took the photographs on the nightstand to look at them while hugging a pillow. What did he want? Why did he have to feel so bad? It’d hurt when Saima left him, enough so that he’d cared not to fall in love again so soon. But maybe he’d waited too long. Maybe he just needed to love someone, anyone? Hard to say. That answer didn’t feel satisfying and he kept on reviewing all the things he’d thought of in the transport. He wanted to cry because it all hurt, because he felt like he’d betrayed himself even, but he refused to let the tears out.

At last he lashed out and got up to stride to the other room, and entered without even knocking.

“I wanted something different, someone different to expand a world shrunk by sadness,” he told as he entered, jolting her up in slight confusion.

“What are you talking about?” she blushed a bit and closed the door, trying to compose herself.

“You asked me why I like you, why I care for you,” he cleared his voice. “I care for you because you’re different. You come from an entirely different culture, you’ve been around places I’ll never ever see, been in contact with aliens and cultures I’ve only read about at best… And what I’ve read is nothing compared to what you experienced. You’re intelligent, full of contrasts… One moment you look shy, frail and innocent, then the next you flare up into a shameless and aggressive creature,” he gestured. “You’re everything and its opposite. You’re tender and caring, but you don’t love and you don’t trust, you’re intelligent and yet there are so many things that elude your understanding…” he shook his head. “You’re not perfect, and neither am I, but I felt this chemistry between us and now I don’t know what to do. I said I’d be ready to let you see other men while I desperately try to seduce you, but I was wrong. I want you,” his voice broke a little and he had to swallow to continue, a bit miserably. “I’m sorry… I never meant to fall in love with you and be like this… I can barely believe I’ve been acting like this when I should only be caring for you, caring to make sure you’re fine after all you’ve been through… I’m  _ really  _ sorry,” he slid down, sitting on her bed and hiding half of his face in his hand.

He felt  _ so  _ ashamed.

“I’m not different to myself, Dain,” she concluded she’d been right in her observation that he’d been envious,  _ and _ that he saw her as some exotic alien. “You’re not in love,” she got up from the chair to walk over to him and sat on the bed by his side, “You’re infatuated. With a concept. A concept that might not even exist anywhere but in your mind. It might surprise you to learn, but I really wouldn’t have objected to being that officer’s sex toy – because, at least, he’d see me for what I am, and he wouldn’t lie to himself or to me about it. And such honesty makes me a lot less anxious. You... you and your kindness, I don’t understand what it is. How to handle it. In which way you’re using me.”

“You’re not a concept,” he frowned in denial, “you’re the strangest person I’ve ever met, which isn’t surprising considering you haven’t grown up around Cardassians,” he tried not to get angry again. “But you’re right, you’re a slut, and the only way I could be fine for you to be around would be if I’d turn myself into one too, except I  _ can’t _ . I’m not the sort of person who goes to see comfort women because if I did, I’d start caring for them as I do already whenever I have to do their health check-ups,” he sighed. “I care for people around me, I’m a Cardassian, what do you expect? I’m not in the military but I still have a need to protect my kind. I wish I could have been the one to care for you, love you, provide for you-” the words were getting to be painful and he had to get up. “Well, obviously you don’t want anything I have to give you and you’d sooner become a comfort woman than be with me, and-” his voice was getting strangled so he headed for the door, “-I have to feed my pets,” he tried to excuse himself because he didn’t want to end up breaking in front of her to top it all, but she got up and followed him, capturing his wrist in her hand to stop him.

“I’d rather you hit me than walk away,” she told him and held his arm more firmly – he didn’t look at her but at least he seemed to be listening – “And you  _ know _ what you have that I want. But you don’t want to give it to me, do you?” she asked almost aggressively herself. “I  _ want _ to commit myself to one, single person, but... I have to be sure we both meet each other’s needs. And if you can’t, I’ll just make you unhappy, and you’ll make me unhappy, and we’ll both be unhappy.”

He tried to compose himself to answer something to that, but instead yanked on his arm to whirl her and catch her, her back against his torso, his free hand around her neck, fingers tight against her throat.

“There…” he appreciated the silence, and to be out of sight. Control helped him settle down and calm, and she relaxed just as much. “What exactly do you want to be to me, Elem?” he finally could ask, his voice deep but still ragged by emotions. “A slave? A pet? Anything I’d order you to be? What do you want? And how much do you want it?”

“I want to be your everything. I want to be what you want me to be, and what I want to be at times. Your possession. A thing. Or perhaps the most important thing. And I want you to be my world, I want your breath, your lips, your words, your protection, your comfort, your punishment, your knowledge… I want to be impressed by you, I want to learn to love you, to worship you, to adore you. I want you to be my everything,” she felt herself get calmer with each word spoken. “I want it with all of my being, Sokal. I want to belong; it’s all I ever wanted. I want to trust you.”

“Then be it, Elem. Be my everything, be mine, mine alone, mine to own and you’ll own me in return,” he promised. “I want to love you like I hurt you, to hurt you because you love it – and I love it too. I want your presence, your wit, your sex, your life, your submission, your everything. I want to build something with you: a life, a family. I want you to bear my children, I want to sleep and wake up with you by my side – or chained by the side of my bed,” he murmured to her ear then turned her around. “Elem, Melekor… surrender yourselves to me.”

There, although his words spoke of what others would perceive as imprisonment, Elem felt as though she had been set free as she turned around and looked up into his eyes. The love she found there, the acceptance, the sincerity – something less than abstract, something she could believe in. With trembling hands, she framed his face and caressed the small scales near his eyes, then those on his cheeks, strong, distinct, protective.

“You are such a marvel, Sokal Dain, such a beautiful Cardassian,” Elem spoke with a deeper voice as conviction took him. “I want no other master than you. I am yours, I surrender myself to you and...” he interrupted himself with a kiss that captured them both. The rest of the sentence was lost to the overwhelming serenity and calm that kiss brought in itself.

Sokal thought he was going to cry but he didn’t, just abandoning himself to this soft and gentle kiss. It wasn’t sexual this time, only tender. An exploration of each other, an exchange. It lasted long enough to get a little bit dizzying, but he’d rarely ever felt so lucid than he did as their lips parted and he blew, looking into her black eyes with his own fair ones, “Enjoin me, Elem.”

The proposal filled Elem with an almost unreal warmth, and she smiled in genuine joy.

“Yes, I will,” she answered and nuzzled him, standing on her toes, “you fill me with purpose, Sokal Dain. I will repay you in love, tenderness and care. I’ll protect you, like you protect me. I... love you. And if anyone ever hurts you, I’ll kill them.”

“I bet you will!” he laughed with a toothy grin, appreciating that those words might be extremely true. He kissed her lips and hugged her tight. “I must tell you something however… You will learn something, something I know already but cannot reveal to you because I can’t fathom the entire consequences if I were to. Eventually, you will learn what I know, and it might not be most pleasant. But no matter what, I  _ will _ be there to claim you and make you safe. You  _ will _ be safe with me, Elem. Always, because you are mine and I will not let you be hurt.”

Almost before he was done talking, she kissed him again, to make him shut up.

“I don’t want to know, not now,” she mumbled against his lips as she withdrew, “all other things can wait, all I want to do is to enjoy this moment. With you. Fully and completely, without any distractions.”

“You make me a happy man, Elem,” he purred, stroking his nose against hers, enjoying the funny sensations it caused in their ridges, and pressing his chufa against hers

They hugged, they kissed, they ended up laying on the bed at some point, entwined in tenderness. It all felt so good, but before long they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Master Dain,” spoke Tamak through the door, “I am to inform you that dinner is being served.

Sokal smiled at Elem.

“Then I suppose we’ll be coming,” he answer, not letting his eyes stray from her.

He indulged in more kisses before finally getting up.

“Come,” he ordered and was delighted to see her obey.

##  * * *

The family sat quietly around the dinner table. This time, women sat on a side and husbands on the other side, with only two slots left for the youth in the middle. Sokal took the chair between his father and his grandfather, letting Elem take the other one. Mijal looked at him, clearly surprised by the change in attitude.

“Well, you look wonderful, Sokal,” she couldn’t help but note while serving herself some fish and sem’hal stew. “You looked rather grim when you came in earlier, I was worried.”

“We got a report,” the Notator admitted easily. “I suspect it  _ was _ a bit discriminative.”

“Again?” Enar grumbled to himself. “I suppose it’d been too long since the last one…”

“Nothing I can’t get cleaned from both our files,” Sokal smiled, putting down the plate he’d just filled. “In better news, I’m getting enjoined,” he chimed happily. “With Elem,” he looked at her fondly.

The reaction was instant. Ikandar coughed a bit, Mijal chuckled and drummed her fingers on the table’s edge, Isar showed a bit of surprise and Enar looked at the young couple.

“Well, that was fast,” he commented. “If that makes you happy, that’s enough for me. Although I’d rather she has a family first.”

“What family?” Ikandar asked – Enar shrugged.

“I will do everything in my power to stay deserving of such a choice,” Elem said simply, submissively avoiding eye contact, although she stole glances of Sokal every now and then.

“I know you will,” he smiled at her.

“What family!?” Ikandar pressed again.

“Grandfather, it’s not very relevant at the moment-”

“-Yes, it is,” the old man insisted, “I want to know who we’re associating with!”

“Stop being rude to your grandson and his wife-to-be,” Mijal scolded him. “If you don’t know the answer already, then you don’t deserve to know it.”

Enar chuckled at that.

“The truth is we don’t know, father. Elem,” he addressed her instead, “are you going to move in here, then?” – both Mijal and Isar turned to her as to plead her to say yes. Sokal observed them amusedly.

“I think it’s going to be a bit tight in here. We’re young, we wouldn’t want to impose anything to your ears…” he teased.

“I don’t care if you have loud sex,” Mijal cut off, still looking at Elem. “I want grandchildren. And if you don’t stay here, I will move in with you.”

Elem looked between the faces staring at her. It struck her that she’d have to somehow tell Nall, Glain and everyone about the decision to enjoin with Sokal, and she wasn’t so sure that Nall, if he still liked her, would be willing to let her go so soon.

“I’ll have to talk to my host about it, first,” she said, postponing any potential decisions, and trying to neutralize the topic.

“And why does she need her host’s-” Ikandar complained then stopped to look at the others with suspicion. Isar seemed as dumbfounded as him, but Mijal, Enar and Sokal didn’t seem as innocent. Especially the latter two. “You don’t mean to say she’s… No, that’s impossible!”

“Father…” Enar tried to calm him down.

“Are you Rokat’s child?” Ikandar stared at Elem. “Conservator Nall Rokat’s illegitimate  _ child? _ ” In a second, he’d gone back to his previous occupation as interrogator.

“Grandfath-” Sokal tried to interrupt him, but the old man swatted him silent.

At that, Elem (who blushed a dark shade) did what she probably shouldn’t have – she stared back at the man, not saying a word. She was pretty certain this was a game she couldn’t win, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try until her eyes were dry and aching.

It turned into a staring contest, and Ikandar’s entire face seemed to be that of a different person, bright blue eyes turned cold and piercing. It was about fascination, and so he just stared, impassive like a dead end to which no other answer was possible but the one he asked for. Mijal was somewhat embarrassed by her husband’s behavior but also quite enticed – he  _ was _ quite appealing when he was being so formal like that. Enar and Sokal observed the game, both curious to see the outcome, and Isar just ate because all this was rather boring to her. Still, she knew better than to argue with her father-in-law. Finally, Elem lowered her gaze and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, groaning a little to herself.

“Yes, I am,” she admitted in a voice that was just as dry, glancing up at him again, mostly to check that he wasn’t still staring at her like that.

Ikandar got some cheers from his wife and his son for getting the answer out of her. Sokal just chuckled.

“He just adopted you,” he grinned at Elem.

The old interrogator kept on staring at her still.

“Nall Rokat. Of all people. He hid it really well… I would never have suspected it.”

“Neither did he,” Elem cared to admit, then continued, “but that’s something private, and I’d rather not discuss it. At least not, until I’m enjoined and can count your family as my own.”

She served herself some food, trying her best to ignore Ikandar’s continued staring. It was getting tempting to point out to him that most cultures considered staring to be something of a rude habit, but at last the old man stopped and focused back on his food.

“Well, I suppose that promises to be interesting. So, when is Glinn Reyal’s trial due?”

“In three days, I believe,” Enar answered. “It would have been two days ago if it weren’t for the lack of senior Conservators these days. Rokat, Merem, Kovat…” he listed. “The good ones are getting old. I think Naker is the one who’ll be in charge of the confession. I  _ do _ look forward to it, it’s promising to be quite entertaining. What do you think, Sokal?” he grinned at his son.

“Oh, I don’t know the details of the case but Naker is pretty good with militaries,” he said a bit evasively.

“And you?” Enar turned to Elem. “You know the details of the case, don’t you? Would you care to share your very unique point of view? After all, you won’t be testifying so you might as well do so now,” his eyes gleamed. He ate with pleasure and enthusiasm, but it wasn’t just about the food, clearly.

“All I know is that Glain found something incriminating about Reyal on Bajor. And I _ think _ he wanted to contact Gul Dukat to get his support in the case, but that Nall forbade it, because Nall favours self-defense as a method of survival,” Elem ate evasively, feeling a bit entangled in a conversation that was way out of her level, anyway.

“Gul Dukat?” Isar repeated. “He’s quite handsome but he’s not been in greatest favor since the Withdrawal. Still, he was the Prefect of Terok Nor…”

“He’s the main witness,” Enar told. “He’s very eloquent and looks good on screen; Naker must be happy to have him.”

“Can we talk about something else than work?” Mijal complained and turned to Elem again. “I know you need a bit of surgery first, but how many children do you plan to have?”

Sokal and Elem looked at each other. It was going to be a long dinner, a bit awkward, but at least it was mostly joyful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	20. II - Blooming love

 

#  Blooming love

The next day to come was one Iltarel had picked with care. Glain was home with his extended family, and Dayar’s shift ended in the early afternoon. The albino lurked around the transport station next to the Bureau of Alien Affairs, knowing the young Soukaran would come by. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too offended by his presence. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a complete disaster. Clinging a bit to his handbag, Iltarel spied on the street, nervous, until he finally identified the young man. Dayar hadn’t seen him yet, and Iltarel observed him. The way he walked was clearly that of a man. It should have felt strange, maybe a bit wrong, but the clerk chose not to care. Soon, Dayar spotted him back and stiffened, but didn’t try to ignore him, instead heading for the confrontation.

“Jarad,” he greeted him rather suspiciously as he walked over to him, hands clasped behind his back, “can I help you?”

“Edar,” Iltarel murmured the name, trying to keep his usual composure. He cleared his voice slightly. “Actually yes. I know I’ve severely wronged you and that you must hold me in great contempt by now, but I really need to speak to you. It’s important. I thought I could maybe offer you lunch if you haven’t eaten anything yet,” he offered a bribe.

“Lunch would be... acceptable,” Dayar figured, still rather weary, “but I have to warn you, you won’t be able to convince me to give you any more of my writing, so if that’s what you have in mind, you’ll end up disappointed.”

“I’m not even dreaming of it,” Iltarel reassured him, leading the way toward the various restaurants up the street. “In fact, I wanted to present you my sincere apologies for what happened. I don’t know what possessed me… This has to be the first time in my life such a thing happens. I’m always so meticulous, dedicated, organized and orderly… but I’d never been so confused and conflicted,” he admitted. “I believe it really was an accident, but I’m still responsible. It should never have happened and I know it cannot be excused. But I still need to apologize. I never meant to do you any wrong,” he told more bitterly.

He steeled himself, expecting anger and harsh judgement of course, and was ready to take the sentence. Dayar gave Iltarel’s words a good moment of thought as they walked in a synchronized pace. The explanation wasn’t bad, and a large part of the young editor wanted to be rid of all these negative feelings. Animosity was exhausting, after all.

“So... what did you think?” he finally asked, skipping ahead in the conversation, “About the story. I hope His Rokat wasn’t the only one who got around to actually read it.” – Just like that?

Iltarel looked at him, wondering a second if he’d missed something, but all he could think of was that, for one, maybe Dayar was giving him a chance to redeem himself, and for two, damn, was he cute… This spark of intelligence in his eyes, this delicate face, still feminine in places, androgynous…

“The story… I, of course,” he had to clear up his mind. “It’s more of an experience, isn’t it? I sunk in it more like in a poem, I allowed myself not to care so much for the sense at first. The more I read, the more I could start weaving the pattern laid behind the scenes and start wondering about the holes left there on purpose – you do have a sadist strike, don’t you? You like to tease; it’s almost taunting by moment, and yet it keeps pleasant,” he said honestly. “I’m not sure how you manage this balance, keeping it serious but still playful enough that it doesn’t feel arrogant. And the plot twists are amazing!” he started to get enthused as memories flashed along. “The one in the third chapter, in the past, that is only revealed as a plot twist later on; that was fantastic! It was in such plain sight that I must admit I didn’t see it coming, and I assure you that it takes real talent to achieve this. Usually I tend to figure  most everything from the start,” he said, not even trying to boast. “The character development is unique too. There is… so much life in those characters. It’s very smartly written,” he blushed a bit and had to look away, deciding to point at two restaurants as to ask which one Dayar would favor.

The Soukaran had to pick the most expensive one in the street, which Iltarel took as a hint that the grudge wasn’t over yet. Hopefully he could afford it without getting into troubles to pay his medicine by the end of the month – although he’d sooner deprive himself from food than from his treatment.

They entered the establishment, which ceiling arched over them, embracing them like the sky itself – in fact, it was covered by old, repurposed displays, that were all broadcasting the actual sky, giving an illusion of being outdoors in a small garden, where a stream trickled along across the floor, paved with pebbles harvested from the coast. This place was one of the best sources of seafood, Dayar knew.

“And have you been able to guess the identity of the unnamed ally yet?” he asked with a smirk as they took their seats by a small, round table next to a large, potted plant, which green leaves hung around them like feathers.

“Considering the place where they seem to originate from, I’d think it might be the Breen. Either that or that alliance in the Gamma quadrant, although the wormhole wasn’t mentioned. Not that it’d need to be mentioned,” he picked the menu and went through the varieties of seafood.

“How very perceptive of you!” Dayar appreciated, even though Jarad wasn’t exactly  _ correct _ in his guess. “I’ll take whatever happens to be the discounted lunch today, except if it’s lungdai. Is it lungdai?” he leaned over the table a bit to spot the menu better while the other tried to figure what to order – did he feel like fish, shrimps, squids or any sort of seashells? Raw nakat was one of his favorite servings of fish and he figured he’d have some with kori balls. At least, he was about sure it would be fresh and of great quality.

“The wormhole-” Dayar leaned back, comfortable with his own choice, “-really did complicate things for me when it happened. See, I’ve planned this story for years, and the wormhole hadn’t been accounted for. Thankfully, it wasn’t all too difficult to integrate it into the story, and in the end, it ended up offering endless opportunities for further plots, ah...” he sighed with a distant smile, “I wish I could see it for myself.”

“Ah, well, if you’re interested in that,” Iltarel started to search in his bag, taking out an increasing quantity of reading PADDs – in a minute, he had half a dozen of them in his arms as he searched for the right one, then started to search for the right page, using the word filter. “Ah, there,” he handed it to Dayar, “it’s not like seeing it for yourself, but that’s from someone who’s seen it for real,” he smiled while putting the other PADDs back where they came from.

Dayar read the passage, and once he was done with it, placed the PADD on the table with a concerned look to his table mate.

“I do hope  _ you _ didn’t write this,” he told him rather gently, “whoever put this into words clearly needs help from a mental institution.”

“You can’t say this!” Iltarel quickly retrieved the device, explaining he was asked to give feedback on the text and that, yes, it was quite tedious, especially since he didn’t want to be nasty to the young author, moreso considering she’d been through a lot lately, he nodded and went over her late assessment.

“She does have a flair for the dramatic and she’s asked me to help her turn that story in a holonovel,” he pinched his lips. “It’s endearing, but I must admit it’s you I’d rather work with, Dayar,” he felt himself heating up a bit.

Dayar had stiffened a bit as they suddenly found themselves on first-name-basis, but adapted quick enough, grabbing a salt stick from the jar of appetizer the waiter just put on the table.

“What do you think?” Iltarel asked once they were alone again.

“I  _ do _ ... believe I might just find such an arrangement to be something enjoyable,” he agreed, a smug smile following soon after, “ _ Iltarel _ .”

The albino froze, failing not to blush as he repeated the words in his head three times to be certain he understood them right.

“I. I’m glad you think so,” he stuttered a bit. “ _ Still _ , it’s not entirely so easy. I don’t want you to think I’m still trying to stage ...whatever,” he dismissed the concept with his hand and picked a stick as well – albeit a spicy one, to have an excuse for any further blushing. “As I told you before, I’m more a hardware person, so I’d still need help for the programmation part, and that would mean Glain,” he told honestly, although he knew Dayar wouldn’t welcome it. “He told me he’s not pursuing you anymore. I’d like to believe him because we don’t lie to each other, but he  _ was _ a bit strange when he said that, so I’m not sure how true that is. I guess you’d be the one to know better since you’re the one who gets to be around him at work,” he shook his head and looked down, biting on his stick.

“And what about you, Your Jarad?” Dayar smiled innocently with that question.

“Me?” Iltarel repeated, “I don’t feel like a most interesting person… I wish I could dazzle you with my eloquence, my artistic talents or the tales of my many successes in life, but I have very little of any such things,” he said quite honestly. “I believe I like you, but I’m not sure why. If I should be completely sincere, it’s a little scary. It’s new and… I don’t feel worthy of someone as brilliant as you.”

Dayar sent Jarad a puzzled look from beneath raised eyeridges.

“You think you’re unworthy, yet here you sit with me, about to share a meal... I think, Your Jarad, that somewhere deep inside, you think higher of yourself than you know,” he took another stick and watched the other with more softness now. “I like you too. Your company is... welcome. And your honesty, even if sometimes blunt, is refreshing. I don’t think worth is relevant to the balance between us –” Iltarel closed his eyes a second to savour those words.

“It’s odd how good it feels,” he told, eyes still closed. “Your voice, I mean. The words, the sentences you pronounce,” he opened his pale eyes again, observing the man in front of him, his tanned skin, his delicate features. “It is refreshing for me too to be with you. You’re very complex, but being with you feels uncomplicated without being simple either.  _ A balance _ , as you put it so nicely. A subtle equilibrium…” he smiled fondly. “It’s appeasing to be with you, and very pleasant too.” He blushed a bit and looked down again, feeling a little gross for disturbing the silence that could have conveyed just as much. “I’m sorry. I talk too much.”

Laughing joyously, Dayar shook his head.

“This  _ is _ a dinner for two, I would’ve thought that the entire point was for the two of us to talk to one-another! And I’m more than willing to listen,” he added as he took yet another stick from the cup. “As long as you don’t call me selfish again. I think we could spare such remarks until such a time that we are closer than acquaintances. Which I suspect might happen, so all you have to do with your opinions, is to patiently bottle them up. And let them age like a flask of good Kanar.”

Iltarel laughed a little more nervously still, failing not to blush again and feeling terrible about his lack of self-control.

“Talking about Kanar,” he smiled at the sight of the waiter coming back with their orders and a bottle of black, “I hope you enjoy the liquor as much as you make it sound.” Iltarel dismissed the waiter as soon as the dishes were set, and served Dayar himself: “It’s a pleasure to be acquainted with you, Your Edar,” he grinned with a bit of malice, starting to feel a little more confident thanks to the action. He filled his own glass and lifted it. “I do wonder, still. What does a fine man like you enjoys to do with acquaintances aside from dragging them into the most expensive restaurants at sight?” he teased.

“Cheeky question –” Dayar filled his glass, and lifted it in the same manner – “when you know I have almost  _ no _ free time,” he observed as he sipped and set the glass aside to start eating. “That said, I make a point to go experience culture. You can’t create compelling stories without immersing yourself in the rest of the creative world. I’ve been known to drag Damar to the great theater, despite the fact that it’s hardly his favourite past-time. He prefers shooting simulations,” Dayar shook his head a little, “which can be entertaining, and would be even more so if I didn’t have to worry that he’ll die from an asthmatic attack every time we go.”

“We could go together,” Iltarel proposed shamelessly, “to either. I might be a little more fond of art galleries than theater, but if you also like shooting simulations, I’d love to see you with a phaser at hand. It must be quite a sight,” he couldn’t help but imagine it and his neckscales darkened a bit. How  _ erotic _ did this mental picture had to be? He bit his lips and looked down his plate, in which laid his kori balls wrapped in thin slices of fish, resting in a delicate puddle of sauce – the presentation was unusual but very much to his liking.

“So, which museum would you favour? Fine Cardassian arts, or the alien display?” Dayar dipped one of his seaweed chips in his sauce, and scooped up some of the ground mussels on it before chewing it. An optimal meal for conversation.

“I like abstract art,” the clerk answered easily. “I think Cardassian art is often more enjoyable, but some aliens can make very powerful works too. I also like the ones that give a little bit of insight on their biology and psychology, but then it’s not the same sort of experience of course. I really do not care much for figurative arts, especially if it comes to representations of something real. I think it is gross and redundant if it’s the topic of the piece itself,” he shared his point of view. “And you?”

“I have to admit, I’m surprised,” Dayar had risen up a bit in his chair, eyeing Iltarel over with a mixture of fascination and intrigue, “I would’ve sooner guessed you to be the more practical, hands-on type, who likes when a rock is a rock and a bush nothing but a bush... you have to forgive my observation, of course,” he took another chip. “I rather enjoy art that breaks the borders of convention. Turala for instance, how she blends settings together to create impossible landscapes – I can understand that some would like her pieces to be censored, as they might  _ lead into temptation _ , but I personally find them to be a relief. If I can’t meander outside of the Union’s borders, at least I can see wonderful things in her work.”

Iltarel shared the appreciation and thought to mention a holonovel he’d created (together with Glain, but he didn’t credit him). It was more of an experience than a story, immersive and a bit strange, but he thought Dayar might enjoy it as a showcase of technical possibilities if anything.

The Soukaran squinted, pointing it sounded awfully like a practical joke.

“Does it?” Iltarel was somewhat taken aback. “More interestingly, do I look like the type to make this kind of joke? To a person I’m court- c…” he blushed instead of managing to say the word. “Do I?” – Dayar felt his neck get a bit hotter too at that prude stuttering, but decided to just move on with the conversation. Casual and cool.

While he could appreciate Iltarel’s attempt at showing off, Dayar settled that it would be more orderly to begin by paying a visit to a museum rather than to run straight to the holosuite.

“Perhaps sometime next week? Unless you were wishing we’d go today, after we’re done here. I  _ suppose _ I have the time,” he considered.

“It was quite close to the end goal of the 1-1 branch of my plan for today – the one in which everything works so well that it’s almost suspicious,” Iltarel explained. “I must admit I expected to be closer to the middle of branch 3-4 by now. I… have a military for uncle; he taught me efficiency,” he excused himself.

Now, that was something quite endearing to learn of Jarad, the kind of thing that Dayar  _ cared _ to know. And as an author, he could well understand the functionality of such a structure – he used it a lot for his stories.

In fair trade, he told of the person with whom he’d been sharing his texts so far, and who so happened to be a gul in the military. It was Iltarel’s turn to be surprised, and that Gul Varkan thus made for an entertaining conversation topic.

“I’m glad to learn you have more friends than your uncle seemed to suggest.”

Dayar made yet another amused expression, questioning Jarad’s statement by holding up two fingers, one for Varkan, and one for Damar.

“Ah, yes, I feel overwhelmed by the crowd around me already,” he added one more, pointing it at Iltarel. “I take it you wouldn’t mind adding yourself to the list. This dinner is already counting in your favour, Your Jarad. Next time, I expect you to cook the same dishes with your very own hands,” he grinned smugly with his tease.

“I can take up the challenge,” Iltarel nodded, “I just don’t expect the result will be exactly the same. If a forty five percent margin error is fine on you, I think it should be approximate enough. It might even be edible,” he joked. Then added, “I’m not  _ so _ bad at cooking, at least I believe I’m better than Glain. Except for sweets,  _ that, _ I reckon he does a lot better than I, but one can’t live on sweets so I believe that makes  _ me _ superior,” he made his point. Then blushed again because Dayar was still cute.

The Soukaran couldn’t help but to chuckle, setting the glass of Kanar away, since he couldn’t drink while laughing, anyway.

“Sounds like the two of you would make quite a functional pair,” he commented, not minding so much that Jarad was now boasting about Rokat again, “you bring the food, he brings the fun. Together: perfection. Or great friction, I suppose. I’d claim I could bring you the same, but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t – I do not wear an apron very well.”

It was Iltarel’s turn to laugh as the last comment caught him by surprise. Still, he was glad with Dayar’s words, confessing that Glain wasn’t a friend he could afford to discard. The editor shrugged that in laughter, too caught up yet in imagining Iltarel in a kitchen, and the topic derailed to Iltarel’s little brother.

“Pitir,” Iltarel smiled. “He’s sweeter than his cakes and pastries, but I don’t think even him looks good in an apron. He’s not the most graceful-looking Cardassian – beauty isn’t where the Jarads lay their assets, but as you said, appearance isn’t all there is to a character. Knowing I’ll look terrible no matter what I do, I guess there isn’t too much risk in ambling in front of you in an apron if that keeps this smile on your lips,” he smiled too, then only realized what he said. Well, what was said was said. “I do find you very beautiful and elegant, and I don’t think there’s anything that could look bad on you when you have such a wonderful physique for yourself” he told in ongoing honesty.

Dayar hadn’t expected to sit silently for such a long time. That comment on his physique quickly reminded him of the change his body was already going through. And it did everything to  _ get rid _ of his smile.

“You are very elegant, Your Jarad,” he finally told, just as honestly, but with a little less joy, “You’d do well to treasure your own physique. Aside from your lack of pigmentation, you’re a perfect image of a Cardassian – smart, well-carried and physically fit. Now... having said that. I hope you realize that I’m not always going to look like I do now, and that perhaps you shouldn’t get attached to it. Because it’s a lie, and I do not wish to deceive.” Or at least, that’s how his assigned mental support official had phrased it.

Iltarel turned more serious at once, calm and focused. There was no deceit to him, and his only worry didn’t lay on appearance but on pain, he tried to show some empathy. When he asked if Dayar had considered to be ‘himself’ in private, in the future, however, he was shut off a bit forcefully. Although Dayar didn’t mean to be rude, he didn’t want to speak of such disorderly things, especially not in the open where the conversation could hurt others.

Iltarel reckoned the good point and they ended their meal talking about art and deciding which place to visit next, as was more appropriate.

##  * * *

The Karena center was a decent building in acceptable condition. The infrastructure could have used a little more maintenance, but the place was fine overall. At least, it wasn’t crowded and had an interior garden in which various art pieces were exposed – sculptures mostly, but also more traditional garden landscaping  with architectural structures featuring some stained glasses casting colored light over the water stream crossing the small open pavillion hosting them. It was where the two young men ended up sitting after having gone through most of the inner rooms of the buildings. There in the garden, they could hear the songs of small birds and the jittering of water.

Iltarel looked at his hands, colored by the red, purple and yellow shades of the glass, and smiled at Dayar. More watery shades of blue and green were cast on the young Soukaran.

It took this one a while to realize Jarad was looking at him – he’d been so busy basking in the warmth of the light to properly think of it, and once he saw what Iltarel looked like, he could easily imagine what a mess he himself must seem like, with that patchwork of colors all over him.

“And thus, we both became artworks in our own right... and people came from far and wide to see us sit there on the bench, a moment etched into the flow of time, untouched by change and worldly events. An eternity engraved in light, color and skin,” he smiled and leaned back still, closing his eyes to direct his face against the sunray again. “I’m sorry, I’m not the very best poet. I mostly write fiction.”

“It wasn’t very good indeed,” Iltarel agreed. “It wasn’t entirely bad; it’s rather the approach…” he gave it a thought.

“ _ We always were works of art, but we never saw our true colors. _

_ In a world of representation, is white light a lie or a truth? _

_ Are colors meant to be separated or brought together? _

_ Can all of them exist as one, both as a same unity and as a vast variety? _

_ Are we what we give to see or ever changing? _ ” he waved his hand in the air, letting the colors run over it.

“ _ Red or blue, what is me and what is you? _

_ Gold or green, what I see’s not what I’ve seen. _

_ Black or white, do you see only one light? _ ” he grinned at Dayar.

“You have a brilliant sense for rhythm, Your Jarad!” Dayar appreciated with enthusiasm, smacking his hands against the seat of the bench. “I take it, from these very few words, that you have a well-developed taste for music indeed. I have some appreciation for the medium myself, even if I have sorely neglected to extend my palette in this regard. I mostly listen to... to Kimara, Sokuya, Edrem...” he listed some of the huge classics, those who worked with wooden instruments for the most part, creating rather masterful pieces that lasted for hours each, and had almost a story of their own to them, with how the melody twisted, turned and transformed, reaching climax and falling to pauses all over again: “They help me imagine my stories.”

“Oh, I can imagine they would… Nice choices,” Iltarel agreed. “I appreciate those, although I tend to listen to more contemplative works, like Mekelen. I know, it’s holosuite game music, and people tend to think it’s depressive, but I find it very soothing and great to help focusing while working,” he defended his choice. “ _ The Rainy Gardens of Ghemeda _ ,  _ Vulcan Deserts III _ and  _  Whispers of Kemedi _ are among my favorite pieces. They’re ...very immersive, with a natural feel to them due to the several soundtracks being slightly desynchronized and randomized. It makes each listening into a unique experience, and yet it’s like coming back home each time.”

“Ambient music does have its charms,” Dayar agreed, leaning on the backrest and, as a result, closer to Iltarel. Still at a civil distance, but more casual and relaxed, as if something profound between them had softened up. “There’s such a fine line between sorrow and serenity. The both of them are located close to the heart; sometimes I find it difficult to discern which is which. I prefer to live under the assumption that it’s serenity; the kind of calm, respectful devotion which the State deserves,” he smiled and turned more sidewise, leaning his head in his hand. “You are really rather beautiful in how the light and softness of the colors reflect on your skin. You almost look pearlescent, almost alien – which isn’t a judgement,” he hastened to add, “please don’t be offended. I think it’s beautiful, and a testament to Cardassian diversity. After all, with beauty like yours amongst us, what need is there for lesser species? What need would there be to go to other worlds? We already have all the riches we could ever need, right here.” He didn’t for a second believe his own words, but hoped that one day he might come to do so.

Iltarel thought about it. He found that the trick of the light was most fortunate to hide that he kept on blushing now and again. Did he want to be an alien however? He’d rather not. He’d rather be a Cardassian. But he’d still rather be himself too.

“Does that mean I should speak a different language to be more alien?” he asked. “ _ I learned little Bajoran, _ ” he told in that language. “ _ Not so very useful in my line of work. You don’t see many Bajorans where I go. If you do, you don’t speak to them, _ ” he shrugged.

“Very good articulation!” Dayar complimented, shuffling a bit closer in his enthusiasm, to the point where their legs were now almost touching. At the same time, he couldn’t help but to admire Jarad’s posture where he sat, easily the most elegant artwork in the room. Orderly, perhaps even strict, but with an awkward air that made him positively irresistible. “ _ How come you chose to learn Bajoran? It’s not exactly a favoured language, except if you wish to read what they don’t want you to read. _ ”

Flatteries, was it? Was Dayar the sort to flatter? Iltarel wasn’t certain but put extra effort in the pronunciation, trying to remember where to put the accent on each word exactly – Glain was better at it, really.

“ _ It would possibly have been useful if I became a Conservator. But I didn’t. Instead, I became practical for Glain to practice. We thought we would go to Bajor together someday, _ ” he revealed. “ _ Then he went there alone. But if you like practice, then I am glad to know a little. Even if I am not very good for you to improve. _ ”

He looked down, shuffling a little and their knees touched. He froze, shivering at the contact and blushing. He dared not look at Dayar anymore, nor put an end to this improper proximity.

“ _ I have to admit, I’m about starved for these kind of conversations _ ,” Dayar didn’t recoil, instead indulging in the unintentional touch. He didn’t press any further into it either, but rather just let it be there, like a sweet moment to keep for later. “ _ Even if you think I won’t improve, talking at all is better than staying silent, and I do enjoy the melody of your voice.  _ I like how you speak, where you put emphasis.  _ And the words you choose, too. _ ” Dayar felt himself blush again, and indulged in the simple pretense that it was only the Cardassian sun sieved through color that brought him the heat.

“Your Edar,” Iltarel had to clear his throat and made the error to look at those heterochromic eyes, which caused him to forget for a second what he was even about to scold him with. “ _ I like your voice too, _ ” he said instead and felt stupid. “I… I’m really not good at those things,” he tried to return to a more formal attitude, which was his personal comfort zone. “ _ You are very daring and a chair disorderly, _ ” he finally managed to scold him a bit despite a mistaken word – Dayar burst out laughing almost immediately, bending forward and slapping his knee a bit, then breathing in a hacked up way for almost ten seconds as he tried to calm down. “ _ I said it wrong, did I not? _ ” Iltarel concluded, squinting.

“Yes, yes you did,” Dayar remarked in a strained voice as he’d finally managed to lean back and regain self-control, “but I believe you made yourself understood.”

Respectfully, he withdrew and left a respectable distance between them.

“I suppose any further linguistics classes should be taken to the privacy of my home – another day,” he added the last for clarification as he didn’t want Jarad to think he was some sort of disorderly person. “Perhaps we should retreat for today. It  _ has _ been a nice afternoon.”

“It has been,” Iltarel agreed, feeling incredibly giddy. “I take it we’ll meet again and that you don’t hate me after all?  _ It has been a most gratifying moment in your company. _ I cannot express how…” he couldn’t find the word, writhing fingers in attempt to grasp it until he eventually gave up, “...I feel,” he finished simply. “But it’s good. Very good.”

Dayar got up from the bench first, and reached a helping hand towards Iltarel, well aware what such a gesture might imply in such a context. He had to adore the way the other struggled for words, literally seeming to try and grab them with his fingers.

“Come, I’ll escort you to the transport – which of us live the closest? I could escort you all the way home, if it’s you. It would please me to see that you come home safely.”

“If it would please you, then it doesn’t matter who lives the closest, Your Edar. A fine and caring man like you will see that I get home safely no matter what,” Iltarel caught him at his own game.

He touched Dayar’s fingers with his own, feeling the heat of them. They were thinner than his, soft, but still manly, although delicate. Fingers of artist. Iltarel’s were long and strong, rather agile still. He indulged in this proximity like in a kiss. It was slightly erotic but not forbidden.

The moment became a bit longer than they’d anticipated, and Dayar was first to shake himself out of the dreamlike state: “We’d better go. Please, tell me of your home as we go. I want to hear everything.”

It was going to be a long tale as Iltarel (completely oblivious that Dayar might be more interested in the people than in the walls) started a history of the various homes he’d lived in, and how his father’s house was a bit small for a somewhat large family, which meant bedrooms had to be split and shared, and squabbling between siblings happened a lot. Iltarel was thankful to have mostly shared his uncle’s flat as Teval was calmer in temper.

 

Soon they were comfortably seated on the upper level of the transport, with Iltarel sat by the window and Dayar next to him, in one of those rows for two.

“It’s a good thing Siyal moved out with her husband,” the albino continued, “She ended up with a first child quickly after getting enjoined, and a pair of twins last year,” he shared with a bit of amusement. “We’re a family with twins, but not identical ones – Lukat and Ijal are very unalike. He’s a self-absorbed idiot while she’s a caring mother and sister. She lives on the same military base as Siyal – Siyal is a communication engineer there,” he sighed. “Yes, I envy her sometimes,” he admitted. “I used to have two elder brothers, Vigal and Merek, but they were both killed on Bajor, on the eve of the Withdrawal. My parents aren’t over it yet, especially my father. I hope you won’t have to ever see him…” he muttered. “He’s not a bad person but the only thing he’s good for is work, really. Everything else is a disaster.”

“He can’t be too bad, if he cares enough for his children to mourn for such a long time,” Dayar reckoned with sorry warmth, “at least he tries, doesn’t he? Even if it doesn’t work out so well, that’s what matters. I can respect a man like that, no matter how much of a catastrophe he might be.”

They crossed past a view from which they could see the large monuments in the distance. The burial grounds really were a gem to the eye, although maybe a bit too close to the topic. Iltarel stayed silent so Dayar went on:

“I have four siblings, two of them are twins. Keteny and Tul,” he shared. “Quite a coincidence, is it not? Glinns, both of them, at least from what I gather. And then there’s Mika, my older sister, and Kayal, my father’s most beloved daughter. She’s fifteen, and I think she might be attending one of the Institutes of creative arts. Kantar made sure to put all his funds into her education; I think he might want her to become a real author. You know, the kind with a public popularity, who gets hired to write autobiographies of prominent Guls and Legates. I hear she’s got great talent and giftedness, her future would seem to be a very bright one.”

Iltarel agreed in a way that was mostly flatteries toward Dayar, wishing he’d dare to reach the Soukaran’s fingers again. Instead, he thought to warn him that he truly wasn’t on the best terms with his own father, and that the only reason the old man was trying to open to him was because Vigal and Merek were dead, Lukat had recently been found to have become infertile, and Pitir wasn’t suited to be fertile. 

“My father’s recent gentleness toward me only stems from his desire to see his family name carried on by a child of his own. And it’s his own fault if his daughters enjoined to other families instead of having their husbands enjoin to ours,” he muttered. “He can be very judgmental and hurtful – I still remember some things he said to Glain that were… very questionable, and with emotional damage lasting over months…” he said cautiously.

As Dayar had come to expect very little of people in general, the news about Iltarel’s father didn’t do much to unphase him.

“I appreciate the head’s up,” he answered instead, rather relaxed as they entered into a tunnel, soft orange stripes rushing past the window outside. The pressure made him chew the air a little to get rid of the odd feeling in his ears. “I’ll make sure to listen to him just as much as I listen to my own father,” he answered rather simply, with a boyish smile.

“I see we seem to have the same respect for our respective fathers,” Iltarel concluded, almost returning the same sort of smile, slightly smug. He relaxed into the seat, closing his eyes a moment. “My mother is an instrument maker. I think we, the children, must have spent most of our time with her, in her workshop in Torr, and with our grandparents, in Akleen. It was more practical this way. I guess that’s why we don’t have such a strong connection to our father, aside from the blood tie… If I have children someday, I’ll do everything I can to be with them as much as I can,” he smiled and looked at Dayar. “And around my beloved too. Family matters too much to waste such decisive years.”

They went out of the tunnel and the sudden bright light blinded them a few seconds, making Iltarel squint and blink. Still, Dayar was a wonderful sight even then. Iltarel realized he was starting to be holding up his gaze for longer than was proper but he just smiled, relaxed, and Dayar indulged him in an outwards serenity, playing along as he was expected to – looking back, slowly reaching for the other’s hand to touch his fingertips. Pretending from the core of his being that such a future was something he could live with – to have a loving husband and many children right there, in Cardassia’s sweetest sunshine. United beneath a sky of promise and love.

“You’ll make someone very happy, one day,” he made his voice smooth and soft to go with the illusion he was painting, “You have such a good heart, Your Jarad.”

He wondered if his smile was convincing enough, if it reached his eyes, or if Iltarel could see beyond the display. He hoped he wouldn’t. He hoped he could hide his feelings well, or else he’d get scolded by social services for his next therapy session. Alas, Iltarel was perceptive enough to see through the words ...but thankfully, he chose to play along.

“I intend to,” he unfolded his fingers to indulge in the contact, feeling his heart beat faster at the intimacy. “I think I’ve always known it would be difficult, but I am fearless when it comes to loving and caring, Your Edar. I might be drawn to persons who really need someone to care for them, support them too. I believe I’m not so bad at giving warmth to keep those I love full with life,” he gently captured Dayar’s fingers.

The Soukaran found this vision to be almost offensively naïve, but chose not to enlighten his friend – after all, his view was perfectly Cardassian. There was nothing about it that could be criticised.

“And that is why you love His Rokat,” he concluded instead with the same softness as before. “He’s vulnerable, is he not? Especially now... I had to work together with him for a while, sharing my office. Not the most pleasant experience, mind you. He thinks his work effort is superior to mine, and more important too. He doesn’t say it; he doesn’t need to: he’s arrogant. I find it a bit belittling.”

Iltarel sighed.

“You’re right, he’s vulnerable. I can’t tell you all the details – that would be rude of me and he wouldn’t take it kindly – but if you know of that trial in his younger years, you probably know he tried to take his own life then. The reasons weren’t those he was accused of, no, but he did see death closely,” he whispered gravely. “He’s sweet, yes, but that he manages to keep on being joyful and smiling only hides all the hurt. Last time I saw him…” He shook his head. “He was unnaturally happy, and that’s when his father decided to end his mother’s life. I would wager he must be burying his feelings into work. He can be a little bit snappy at times,” he reckoned. He was worried still, and it was obvious. Glains’ well-being wasn’t exactly something he’d wanted to think of while being with Dayar. “Is he bothering you a lot?” he favored caring for the person he was with in that moment.

“Not since His Dain offered to let him use his office while he does his practical work. Dain is a Notator, bottom floor,” Dayar explained and made gesticulations as to where Dain’s office was, in the invisible building in front of him. “I know you care for him a great deal, but... I am not sure how to read him, really. Especially not since he changed not only his taste in clothes, but his entire way of acting. It’s like he’s trying very hard to be someone. Whether it’s himself or somebody else... I’m not certain. But it’s suspicious, and I don’t like it.” Then he snickered and leaned closer, “Damar thinks he’s from the Obsidian Order. He thought the same of  _ me _ when I first started working under him.”

Iltarel couldn’t help but frown slightly at those news – what in Cardassia was going on? he wondered. But that was for him to investigate later, and he chose to change topic and plan their next time out together, at the holosuite, then let the conversation flow more normally.

 

By the time they reached Iltarel’s station, they’d ended up talking about cooking again while walking down the streets, with the albino musing that, with a talented cook like Demeny at home, Dayar must feel like eating at the restaurant everyday.

“I’m afraid my family has never invested a lot of time nor thought in cuisine,” he admitted. “ _ Liyara _ however,” he recalled some wonderful dinners, “ _ she _ would make those amazing tables. It was brilliant, the food, the cooking, the presentation,” he gestured. “Your uncle would have loved it,” he smiled. Then he remembered Liyara was dead now, and he became sad.

Liyara was dead.

It hit him in right across the throat and the corner of his eyes darkened at once. He steeled himself, trying not to let it show, although Dayar noticed and offered his hand a soft squeeze to comfort him, discreet enough that no other pedestrians should notice.

“I’m sure the next dinner at your place will be much less awkward if you’re the one inviting me,” Iltarel joked instead.

“I will make  _ sure _ to behave better than I did last time,” Dayar lingered with his hand in Jarad’s for a while, then sobered up as they came to his house, letting him go and assuming a more appropriate demeanor.

Iltarel looked at the door, then back at Dayar. They exchanged goodbyes that weren’t entirely formal without being entirely awkward either, and the Soukaran was finally let go to return to his writing while his pale friend entered his father’s house.

His chest was filled with vibrations echoing all through his body. The scales on his back especially felt like they were humming.

Once laying in his bed, thinking about his next date, Iltarel couldn’t help but grin in impatience. What would he wear? Should he do anything special about his looks? Would they kiss? No, no, probably not. It was still too early.

Maybe just on the cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	21. II - Funeral

#  Funeral

On the next day, Ril Minet’s program of housekeeping advice was canceled in favor of a more important live event. The broadcast splashed on all screens of Cardassia did attract attention as Conservator Nall Rokat was to bury his wife. Since it was Ril Minet’s audience hour, the woman was invited to comment, although she could mostly commend the housekeeper’s good choice of a pet – “Steppe cats are excellent vole hunters and perfectly adapted to urban life, although one should neuter them to avoid uncontrolled multiplication,” she confided in her usual fond voice. “Housekeeper Keelani Dera’an is exemplary in this good practice, and has also contributed several times to the magazine  _ How to eat what can’t be eaten _ , with several recipes of vole-” she was cut there, and probably scolded off-camera for insinuating that the housekeeper might be serving  _ vole _ to a respectable Conservator. Instead, the action shifted to a view of Paldar’s burial grounds, where the mourners approached the Rokat family grave inside which Liyara Rokat was to be laid to rest.

Family and friends had gathered to pay their last respects to her body before it was taken for the funeral rites. One of the commenters started to talk of how Liyara’s blood relatives seemed to appreciate that Nall had the decency not to bring his adopted kids, but was cut short in favor of gossip about Glain’s new career path – ensued a breakdown of the young man’s studies, former occupations and a recently recorded interview. Nall had manoeuvered well enough to avoid that Glain’s teenage trial be mentioned, although the Commentator couldn’t help but mention  _ Reyal’s _ trial, which was staged the next day.

A more respectful silence came as the family and closest friends entered the grave. Liyara’s blood relatives largely outnumbered Nall, Glain and Enjam – eleven had come: Liyara’s very elderly father, retired Detapa counselor Niberim Verak; her eldest sister, retired Archon Yiliin Verak, with her daughter Nardine (who looked disturbingly like a younger version of Liyara); elder sister Nasja with her son Iaki (who was about Glain’s age); and younger brother Nurok with his freshly notated son, Sud; and the respective spouses of Yiliin, Nardine, Nasja and Nurok (Niberim had laid his wife to rest years before). With all the colleagues and friends who came, also with their husbands or wives, and some children too, this all made for a decent crowd.

Inside the grave, cameras were angled so not to show the body as it laid in front of the mortuary chamber ready to receive it. Instead, the focus was set on the Funeral Orator who recited the rites of respect, thanking the defunct for her good service to Cardassia, and to her family. As those were mentioned, the camera turned to them – Glain did his best to hold his composure despite the tears flowing over his face, while his father sobbed helplessly as the Undertaker brought his wife’s body into the grave. Keelani was there too, despite being but the housekeeper – truly, she wasn’t  _ just _ the housekeeper and Nall could use her presence and support. Iltarel too was present, close to Glain and trying his best not to shed a tear – he’d made the effort to put on makeup and dye his hair black to appear ‘normal’ and didn’t want to ruin the moment. Enjam, besides, looked so formal and composed one could have wondered if he really was Nall Rokat’s brother. Glain and Keelani had to pester him into attending the funeral in funeral clothes, and it was all too clear that the man felt naked without his armor.

Then, given his father’s state, and his elderly grandfather’s febrility, Glain took it upon himself to start the funeral chant, humming to set the tone and melody, and the rest of the assembly progressively raised its voice as a chorus, allowing for the lyrics to form, respectful and thankful.

At last, the family paid their last respects over Liyara’s body and all could leave the grave, leaving the Undertakers to close the tomb. Thus ended the broadcast, and all could return to their occupations.

“He’ll get over it,” Mijal patted Elem’s shoulder and passed her another handkerchief to mop her tears. “The best you can do is to present your most beautiful and radiant self tonight. Tears are for the funeral, and a burial should always be followed by laughter,” she assured. “There’s no point in crying the entire day – that’ll only get you dehydrated, and when the weather’s hot, it can be deadly,” she explained.

Cardassian traditions were somewhat different from Trillian and Betazoid ones, but not entirely alien either. It was also true that those species didn’t have to deal with a heat that could, at times, be strong enough to boil eggs in their shells.

##  * * *

The tea lounge was quite lovely, cozy with semi-transparent curtains adorning the walls, and three bow windows overlooking the garden between Nall and Keelani’s house. Beads of phosphorescent minerals hung as decoration and candles illuminated the table. A bit of incense perfumed the air, discreet as it blended with the scent of grass from outside. The olfactive scenery was subtle enough that it would only enhance the taste of the dishes. Glain couldn’t help but smile a little. It was his mother’s favorite room for many reasons, all of them good and obvious in this instant – they had so many good memories there.

The previous day, the room had held him, Enjam and Liyara’s relatives. It’d been the first time Glain had ever had contact with those people, as he’d always been forbidden to even look them up for reasons he still didn’t really question –  _ politics _ . Their visit had been exhausting and the youth was glad to now settle with his own family, his luzzur, and, well, Sokal Dain.

Glain placed himself next to Iltarel at the end of the elongated octagonal table, opposite to his father and his uncle, letting Elem sit to his right and Sokal to her right. The children would have to be next to Nall and Enjam, hopefully serving as a buffer – their uncle didn’t approve of them but didn’t show outright animosity to them either. Iltarel was somewhat thankful for the new company as the brothers were arguing again about Enjam’s absolute reluctance to get enjoined and sire children:

“I disagree, this is a position you put yourself into,” Nall was saying, “and you could very easily get out of it, if you just wanted. But you don’t, so you’d rather sit here and _ - _ ”

“-ah, but that’s conveniently easy for you to say! I suppose I  _ could _ just silently pass her to you once I have her: you seem to be  _ very _ good at this kind of thing.”

“Brother!” Nall smacked the table in outraged offense, “Not in front of the-” he looked up and realized that Elem and Sokal had arrived, and cleared his throat, “-not in front of the guests.” He straightened a bit in his seat: “Your Dain, Your Kel, welcome to the both of you, and please, have a seat.”

While Nall was politely mannered, Enjam was indiscreetly staring at Elem, and she knew she was being judged on everything she did, from how she nodded, to the way she went to sit on her chair, to how she was trying to pretend she wasn’t being watched.

Nall did the presentations, but he was interrupted as he introduced his brother to  _ Her Elem Kel _ .

“...Who we all know very well what  _ she _ is,” Enjam cut him off, leaning back in his chair.

“Enjam...” Nall looked sidewise at him, nervously trying to stitch the family together again.

“ _ She _ should be sitting in the corner,” Enjam sneered in a low voice directed at Nall, whom he was now glaring at. It was obvious that he either didn’t care, or had miscalculated exactly how good Elem’s hearing was, “She has no business sharing the table of respectable Cardassians. Even the  _ children _ have more of a place here than  _ she _ does.”

“Well, I am glad you appreciate your new nephew and niece then!” Nall appreciated, twisting Enjam’s words in a way that the Glinn hadn’t really foreseen. “Speaking of which – Keelani, dear, bring the children.”

Then he turned to Enjam and spoke in a much lower voice, one that Elem couldn’t hear, but she could see the tension turn into something more adversarial between the two men, and she couldn’t help the pinch of shame in her guts.

“And that’s how it’s been ever since Enjam came,” Glain muttered to Elem so only her could hear. On his left, Iltarel pretended he was transparent and not there. On Elem’s right, Sokal was still trying to figure what kind of conduct he should adopt, really.

The children arrived and Sokal quickly found Tilayan sitting between him and Enjam, paying the Notator a bright smile. Kilem sat between Iltarel and Keelani’s chair. When the housekeeper joined them too after setting the first dishes on the table, Glain decided to speak so, hopefully, his uncle would have less opportunities to badmouth at Elem for the time being.

“I figure that now that we’re all gathered around the table, I should tell that starting from next week, when father returns to work, I will be by his side,” he lifted his glass and smiled with slight cunning. “The day he’s been waiting for so long is coming and I do intend to make him more proud than ever by becoming the best Conservator I can be.”

“And I’ll do all I can to pass on my talents,” Nall vowed with a sunny expression, which stood in stark contrast to Enjam’s darkened and leaned back demeanor (and it said something of a Cardassian’s attitude when he didn’t even need words to express himself).

“A most gratifying decision,” Keelani filled the silence and her chair at the same time, which caused Enjam to gawk at her, too – “Relax Enjam, this isn’t Melekor’s Cardassia anymore-”

“-At least not in  _ this _ household,” he whipped out with a meaningful huff.

Keelani pursed her lips, but Nall interjected her.

“Before you ridicule the way I run things, please  _ do _ consider that  _ I alone _ changed Glain’s mind for the better. I think that is a sign of progress in itself,” he smiled at his son again, at which Enjam huffed something only he could hear – “ _ he shouldn’t have been off the path to begin with _ ” _ – _ “Care to say that so everyone can hear you?” Nall asked venomously without looking away from Glain, and without ceasing to smile.

Enjam’s face got a bit of a funny color and he cleared his throat, shrugging.

“Only that it’s about time,” he covered up and silenced again.

“We’re all very proud of you, Glain,” Keelani was the one to speak up, which caused Enjam some more outrage, since she was speaking out of order and place again – he’d been more lenient if he weren’t already so aggravated by everything.

“I know what some  _ think _ ,” Glain calmly said, and without venom. “I should have done this a lot sooner and such, but I wanted to broaden my vision of the world and sharpen my skills first,” he told in general although his words were obviously directed at Enjam. “I won’t travel as much while being a Conservator, but I’ll be capable of gathering data  _ on my own _ whenever necessary, and I’m sure it’ll be  _ very _ helpful to draw confessions out of my convicts. The more you know…” he gestured, a slightly vicious glimmer in the green of his eyes.

“That’s very smart,” Sokal decided to comment. “Did your uncle teach you this kind of strategy? It’s almost military in cunning and execution,” he flattered Enjam indirectly.

The glinn was tempted to insult Dain too, but felt like such a competition might be mistaken as something less confrontational, and more erotic. And that was a predicament the entire family could do without. Looking at the faces by the table, Enjam couldn’t recognize his family anymore. He was about certain Melekor would’ve thrown them all out, had he been there to see it happen.

“It has always been and always shall be my brother’s job to raise his own son,” he tried to keep diplomatic, but felt ever so tempted to get up, tip over the table and walk out of there like a Klingon primitive.

“Do not worry for my brother,” Nall answered in kind, “he will have his own children to raise in time, and I am sure he will do a very decent job.”

“Who is the lucky woman?” Keelani asked, absolutely dumbfounded by this topic coming up.

“He doesn’t know, yet,” Nall sipped some water, while Enjam got to his feet, looked at them all quite pointedly, then left. “He’ll be back,” Nall promised the rest of his guests.

“So, I heard I’m not the only one who’s getting a new occupation…?” Glain looked at Elem.

“Uh, yes,” Elem had been caught off guard by the topic, looking at Glain for a moment too long.

Nall moved forwards in his chair, and just when he was about to ask, she continued:

“Repair jobs, mostly. I’ll have the details for you tomorrow, if you will. My schedule doesn’t start just yet, so we’ll have time to plan ahead,” she smiled with a nod, and Nall nodded a bit.

“Good. I knew you’d manage,” he filled in, still seemingly not convinced.

“That’s one less thing for you to worry about,” Keelani subtly reminded him to smile, which he did, then she turned to Iltarel, “You haven’t said a word, sweetscale. Something wrong? You don’t like the sauce? I promise, I didn’t add any of the mussels you don’t like, it should be fine.”

“Oh, no, it’s very good, as usual,” he replied in honesty. “It’s just that it’s a lot of changes lately… So much is happening…”

“Oh, yes,  _ so much _ is happening,” Glain echoed, smirking at him. “Iltarel is seeing someone,” he announced. “So, how is it going for you two?” – Iltarel tried not to blush but still did.

“Well,” he just said with a short voice.

His friend smiled widely.

“Then I’m happy for you,” he nodded.

“He-” the albino realized what he just said and threw an alarmed glance at Nall and Keelani. “ _ He _ was sorted as man but he’s actually female,” he felt the need to explain. “A talented writer. He’d like to try turning some of his works in holonovels…”

“Can I too?” Tilayan asked eagerly.

Dain couldn’t help but stare at Iltarel and Glain a bit.

“Wait. You are dating with Edar?” he let out his surprise.

“Well, not really… Maybe, I’m not sure,” Iltarel stared at his plate. “I suppose so. It’s possible. I haven’t asked.” The more he talked, the more laughter raised around him, although it was joyful rather than mocking.

“I know  _ exactly _ what you need!” Keelani burst, clapping her hands on the table, getting up in an instant and disappearing from the room.

“You really are in love,” Nall observed with shameless fascination, then grinned in satisfaction, “and with a woman, too! You hear that, Glain,” he pointed at Glain with a piece of bread, “if Iltarel can find himself a woman, so can you. And now, when you can’t rely on his company anymore – we all know how it goes with love: nothing else is as important as that one, special someone – you’ll have a lot more drive to expand your horizons and indulge in what is healthy for you. A bright future, you have!” he lifted his glass, and drank to that.

Glain’s gaze darkened at his father’s insinuation while Iltarel tensed. Was that true? Would Dayar be the end of their friendship? Had Glain given up on him in some kind of sacrifice in hope to keep his  _ luzzur _ ? Or was it all doomed? A bit of terror showed in his eyes as he looked at his friend who chose to look at Elem instead, and Elem politely thought to offer some participation with the holonovel thing – after all, she’d helped Quark with his place enough to know  _ certain _ things.

“We could do that, all of us,” Glain suggested, looking at his luzzur with the gentlest, warmest smile. “You, Elem, Dayar and I. You should bring him here.”

“I… I’ll tell him that…” Iltarel flushed a little.

“I’d  _ love _ to see the result,” Sokal mentioned.

“I’d love to see the  _ process _ ,” Tilayan echoed.

“You kids have fun with that,” Nall murmured before Kilem claimed him into a hushed conversation about the obscure topic that love presented itself to be.

“Here we go,” Keelani returned with a small, black box, which she gave to Iltarel. “These are chocolates. Romulan, I believe. My husband passed the recipe to me after he began his studies. I make them regularly.”

“I never knew of this!” Nall interrupted with surprise.

“I also eat them regularly,” Keelani admitted, then continued hurriedly so Nall wouldn’t interject something, “They are  _ very _ good, and they give women the tingles in the nethers. So if you want to get laid, this is a  _ really _ good idea,” she patted the box with a knowing smile.

While Iltarel had been thankful at first, although a little confused, the last revelation made him blush entirely in some kind of half-outrage. Even if he wasn’t sure exactly what he was outraged at – Keelani, the box, the topic or his own embarrassment? He cleared his throat in some kind of “ _ Thank you, that’s most kind of you _ ”, and went to put the box on the small table near the entrance of the lounge.

Glain couldn’t help his laughter.

“That’s very  _ kind _ of you indeed,” he bounced on the words, shaking his head at Keelani. He next looked at Sokal. “I hope keeping Elem at home wasn’t too much trouble?”

“What would you expect?” the Notator sighed dramatically. “She repaired the oven, then upgraded the fridge, taught my grandmother how to turn replicators into transporters, and transporters into duplicators,” he waved his hand, “and then my grandmother must have spent hours telling about programmation and the automated defense platforms project she worked on but was never approved,” he grinned at Elem at last. “And you understood all that… You’re incredible.”

“You forgot the part about the guard,” she mentioned as if it’d been funny, because it’d been to her.

Keelani gasped as Elem admitted their records weren’t left spotless by the encounter, imagining things that would surely have put Elem and Sokal’s own fantasies to shame, and Elem had to sober up and explain what had happened.

Nall wasn’t amused in the least. Sighing annoyedly, he apologized to Sokal for the trouble, ensuring he’d pull some strings to tidy up the record, but the Notator assured there was no need, as his father had already solved it.

Glain jumped on that occasion to divert the topic to that of Enar Dain, which was more orderly and pleasant, and Sokal obliged, speaking a little of his familial legacy – both his grandfather and his grandmother’s sides were lineages of Ministerial interrogators, although he himself wouldn’t mind to start a lineage of Notators, since his uncle Ketis was already planning to have his children walk in his tracks.

“I think it would be more appropriate that his children inherit the family house, especially if I end up moving in Paldar,” he mentioned innocently.

“Ah, yes,  _ houses _ …” Glain acknowledged with a glance at Keelani.

“What?” burst Keelani as she noticed the way Glain looked at her, not understanding what he referred to, “What do I got to do with it?”

“Glain, don’t…” Iltarel warned, looking at the little blue left in his friend’s glass of Kanar (which wasn’t even the first glass of the day).

The young man laughed and turned back to Dain anyway:

“Keelani’s work contract includes that she has the little house next to ours at her entire disposal, but it’s still my father’s property,” he explained.

“He’ll have to end his entire contract with me as his housekeeper if he wants me to move out,” Keelani finally stated, puffing herself up. “Now Glain, I didn’t know you wanted to get rid of me so badly. I thought you liked me.” Truly, she couldn’t understand why he was being such a snotty child all of a sudden, “Is it because I didn’t give you any chocolates?”

“What? I would never want this household to have any other housekeeper than you!” he stared back at her, wondering what was going on all of a sudden. “Unless you want to retire, of course.” The possibility dawned on him and he paled a little. “You  _ want _ to retire? Is it getting to be too much work?” he looked at his father instead, a bit anxious and not understanding why Tilayan found the situation to be funny and giggled in background. “You can’t let her leave, father. It’s  _ Keelani _ . She’s like… the life of this house. We can’t have any other housekeeper than her!”

By his side, Iltarel cleared his throat in the way that meant “Glain Rokat, you are being overly-dramatic.”

“I have thought of it,” Nall finally admitted, starting to understand just how oblivious even his own  _ son _ was about it all, “but I thought I’d wait a couple of months before making it official. It’s so close to your mother’s passing, I didn’t want to upset you.” He smiled a sorry smile, “And now, even though I’ve told you this, I still think I’ll wait some before springing to it. Mostly for the sake of the public.”

“Thank you,” Keelani appreciated as she was pressing her thumb to her plate to get some crumbs. “I still need some time to make the transition of mindset. I suspect it won’t be very easy to refrain from being a housekeeper; it’s what I’ve been my entire life.”

Glain looked at them both, trying to compute but failing to, utterly so.

“What do you mean? What’s going on?” he blurted, feeling (rightfully so) like he was the only one not to understand.

“They’re getting enjoined,” Iltarel translated for him, smugly satisfied to have won his bet with himself.

His friend went through shock, then disbelief, followed by a laughter of denial before getting back to shock.

“No… That  _ can’t _ be!” he stared at Keelani, then at his father. “It’s  _ Keelani _ ,” he stressed as if that in itself explained everything about the impossibility for them to have fallen in love – which was a ludicrous idea in itself. Still, they didn’t seem to be joking. “She’s the  _ housekeeper _ ,” he argued in a smaller voice, shrinking on his chair as if he was turning into a child again. He tried to speak with his hands but just froze in syntax error, a bit of a frown pinching his eyeridges and his mouth still gaping a little.

“Thank you, Iltarel,” Nall commented rather surly, “I  _ was  _ going to ask her  _ myself _ , but I guess proposing by proxy will have to do.” He looked over at her, the pointed question lingering in his eyes.

“You already know the answer,” Keelani smiled, “but since you want to hear it… Yes. Yes, I’ll form a family with you.”

“Good. Then it’s settled. Now we just have to solve the small issue of... who is going to cook for the celebration, if not you?”

“This can’t be real,” Glain blinked, then suddenly got up and left hurriedly, to go find his uncle and tell him that Iltarel proposed to Nall by proxy and that Keelani was cooking a family for the celebration. Elem and Tilayan burst in laughter as they could hear that, and what followed didn’t decreased their hilarity.

“I’m sorry,” Iltarel apologized sheepishly. “If you need cakes, at least, Pitir is always there… And uhm, I know a few persons who can cook really well, I could ask around…” he tried to make up for his faux pas.

“Ah, good idea,” Nall took a PADD to note “  _ Pitir for baking _ and  _ Iltarel will clean everything and prepare the tables, _ ” reading aloud to make sure that Iltarel understood that he had no option other than to obey, and then he added Dain and his family to the list of guests he wouldn’t mind having over for the occasion.

“I want to enjoin too!” Kilem hooked to the momentum, pointing at Tilayan, “You will enjoin me!”

“She’s your sister, that’s not how it works,” Nall didn’t even think about what he was saying in that moment, nor did he see the boy’s crushed expression.

Tilayan was all flushed but still gave him a comfort smile although she wasn’t sure she should ‘encourage’ him. She liked him, but she wasn’t in love with him. And she still wasn’t sure that what he felt for her was love. It was complicated. But they had time to grow up and learn.

The adults went on talking over the enjoinment ceremony to come, with Elem mentioning how Sokal was gifted with tailoring – and so they started to talk clothes. Having a slight secret crush on Dain, Tilayan decided to send a jab of her own to Elem, by comparing her lover to Garak who  _ also was a good tailor _ , which didn’t fail to make Elem both blushing and a bit angry at the rude notion, explaining that they were nothing alike.

That was about when Glain returned and sat, hair curling a little disorderly – his little sister suspected it had to do with sound she’d heard before, something sounding rather precisely like a nephew and an uncle bumping into each other in the stairs and sledging the way down.

“This is getting to be quite a night,” he sighed and told that Enjam decided to leave and get back to the calm safety of his home and the fluffiness of his cats.

Elem’s smile died there. She couldn’t help but to feel like she’d driven the man away, and no matter how much he disliked her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was replacing him in some way. That she was forcing Nall to choose between her and his own brother.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled as she got up, leaving the room and running outdoors.

 

There in the street, she saw his back disappearing, and grabbed some courage.

“Wait!” she called out and followed him, stumbling a little as he turned around to look at her, pure dislike arraying from his eyes. She stopped five meters away from him, catching her breath. “I’m sorry,” she said once she could finally speak, “I don’t want you to leave on my behalf. Your brother needs you-” she let her voice fade as he strode back to her, stopping only when their faces were so close that she could feel his cold breath on her skin. He was impressive, strong, and much taller than her.

“If you ever speak to me again, I’ll make sure they’ll never find the body,” he hissed it to her so that no one, not even the surveillance system, could hear them. And he meant it, every word of it.

She swallowed.

“I hope not,” she answered in just as silent a voice, “because I am enjoining into the Dain family, and their family works very close with the Order. If you try to hurt me, you won’t live to regret it.”

She was so scared she felt like nausea might win over her any moment now, yet they stared at each other for ...she wasn’t sure how long. Enjam was the one to break eye contact first as he spotted Sokal further away. With a growling sound, he tore himself away and continued his slow walk to the transports, while Elem stood where he’d left her, incapable of moving, and unaware of how much her hands were shaking, nor of how hard and fast her heart was beating.

He had just threatened to kill her, and it had been  _ serious _ . That was how much he loved his family – it wasn’t as if Garak hadn’t warned her about this, but knowing of it didn’t make it any less shocking, in the end.

“Elem,” the Notator called her, holding her to help her calm down. “Did he… Did he do something? Say something? My dear, you’re so pale…” he muttered, wrapping his arms closer around her.

“Am I?” Elem mumbled distantly. Maybe she was? She was dizzy, anyway, and let herself be supported by Dain, leaning on him.

“I’ll be fine. I took care of it,” she turned a bit so she could hold him, too, shielding her eyes against his shoulder and comforting herself with his scent. “He really hates me.”

“What did he say to you, Elem?” Sokal hugged her close – fear had stolen her warmth from her, and left her a useless, shivering mess. “You have to tell me,” he marked. “If you’re going to be my wife, you can’t keep those things for you,” he glimpsed around and dragged them in a more discrete space, which happened to be the balcony where Iltarel had taken Elem on the day of her arrival.

There, she allowed herself to let go of some of the stress – she couldn’t cry, even though it would have been a welcome outlet. Instead she just whimpered and huddled closer to the only source of heat nearby: Sokal. And she told him of Enjam’s words. The young man swallowed hard too, cuddling her and trying to rub warmth back into her.

“That won’t happen, I promise,” he spoke against her chufa and kissed it. “I won’t let  _ anyone _ lay a hand on you, Elem. He won’t act, I ensure you. The trial is tomorrow. That’s too short a notice. He can make threats but he can’t carry them out, it’s too late,” he kissed her again and cupped her face in his hands to look into her eyes. “I love you, Elem… We’re going to enjoin and we’re going to be happy together. And safe. I promise I’ll keep you safe,” he kissed her lips. And again. And again.

Elem let herself be comforted, playing along until the embrace of safety became real to her and the trembling went away.

“You’re right, of course,” she mumbled after the last kiss, then curled herself up against the hollow of his neck, nuzzling him there. “I have never had anyone look at me like that before. He doesn’t know me, yet I could see his hatred of me. And what’s worse, is that Nall might still need him for support. I can’t provide to Nall what his brother could, I don’t have the experience, the age, the insight...”

“True, it’s unfortunate…”Sokal hummed in agreement. “Then, let’s go back, Elem. Let’s not make him worry too much,” he set for them to return to the house.

 

There, the family was gathering in the living room. Lights had been dimmed to a minimum, just enough that it was still possible to navigate safely and everybody was getting seated in front of the little stage. It took a moment for Sokal to realize that Glain and Keelani were missing, but the housekeeper soon reappeared with bowls of eggcream – one of the Rokat family’s favorite dessert.

“What’s going to happen?” Sokal asked Tilayan who sat next to him.

“I don’t know, it’s a surprise,” she answered in a hushed voice.

Soon, curtains appeared around the stage, offering a hidden path out the room, and some two minutes later, Glain came out from behind them.

“My dearest ones,” the young man spoke softly, “I have the pleasure to open the stage tonight with a song wrought in the drama and poetry which my mother wished for me to seek in life. ...Revel with us.”

That said, he clapped his fingers three times and music started to play. Something cheerful and simple, popular and easy to sing and dance along, although the style of singing itself would bring a complexity of its own. Swaying on the tune, Glain started to sing, slow at first, his voice more alike to the raspy hiss of a bird, with trebles lengthening some words.

 

_ “I was born in glorious Cardassia, _

_ Where the sun is warm and the wind can sing, _

_ I am so proud to be here, _

_ I am so glad to be here, _

_ Life shines in my eyes, _

_ My scales glisten like the sea…” _

 

_ “But you are no Cardassian!” _ a voice from behind the curtains sang viciously. It did sound like Glain’s voice and caused some surprise.

_ “It takes more than a birthplace, _ it continued,

_ More than sharpness in the eyes, _

_ More than scales and ridges, _

_ To call yourself a true Cardassian! _

 

_ “I am so smart and so witty, _ Glain started singing again in reply.

_ I am so good at kotra, _

_ And I can dance, _

_ And I can sing, _

_ I'm so graceful and nice, _

_ Oh, everybody loves me! _

 

_ “But you are no Cardassian! _ ” the voice accused again.

_ It takes more than a brain, _

_ More than elegance in the moves, _

_ More than eloquence in the voice, _

_ To call yourself a true Cardassian! _

 

_ “I am lawful and kind, _ ” the dialogue went on.

_ I never make a mistake, _

_ And my records are clean, _

_ And my success is at hand, _

_ I'm so cooperative, _

_ Always eager to help! _

 

_ “But you are no Cardassian! _

_ It takes more than carefulness, _

_ More than spotless records, _

_ More than achievements, _

_ To call yourself a true Cardassian! _

 

_ “Then tell me!” _ Glain shouted at the curtain. “ _ And make me!” _

 

_ “Oh, child, sweetscale, don't you know in your heart? _ ”

 

Another Glain finally came out of the dark, dressed in the black dress tailored by Garak, and wearing eyeliner, dark lipstick and black makeup on the chufa, turning it into a void-like hole with a sparkling white gem in the middle. Terrifying, almost, although the apparition didn’t fail to stir a few surprised snickers. He glared at the audience with malice. And the both of them started singing again, in dialogue – this time, the Glain in dress was echoing more cheerfully.

 

_ “I love my father, I love my mother, _

_ By their love, I live today, _

_ For the sleepless nights, _

_ For the love and care, _

_ For the skills you passed on me, _

_ How can I ever thank you enough? _

 

_ “Be a true Cardassian! _

_ Your family's true reward, _

_ Your joy and your pride, _

_ To call yourself a true Cardassian! _

 

_ “I follow the path my parents chose for me, _

_ In their wisdom, in their generous hearts, _

_ They set it for me, _

_ They laid it for me, _

_ And gladly I walk it, _

_ How I respect my family! _

 

_ “Be a true Cardassian! _

_ Your legacy's your career, _

_ Your path of success, _

_ To call yourself a true Cardassian! _

 

_ “My life I dedicate to the State, _

_ Cardassia, you order and I obey, _

_ You give me purpose, _

_ You give me a meaning, _

_ You are my very first love, _

_ To give myself to you is no sacrifice! _

 

_ “He's a true Cardassian! _

_ He fits in and shines, _

_ He represents what he's part of, _

_ He calls himself a true Cardassian! _

 

For the last stanza, a child dressed in white suddenly appeared out of thin air to sing along, and it took only a second for all to realize it was a younger version of Glain.

_ “Oh, Cardassia, _

_ Oh, father, oh, mother! _

_ I am your son as you see me, _

_ I am your son as you made me, _

_ A true Cardassian, _

_ A true Cardassian.” _

 

At last, the three characters stood in line for a bow.

“And so,” the first one grinned, “Can you tell which one of us is real?”

“The least disorderly one,” Nall hoped in a small voice from where he was sitting on the front row, still rather pale from the display.

Kilem was quick to disagree with him, because he was certain the Glain in the dress was the real Glain, because his line had been that the other wasn’t a real Cardassian, and that  _ would _ be true, if the other was also a hologram. Elem found herself agreeing with Kilem, but didn’t really find a way to phrase it – there was something about that makeup that made her uneasy in an incredibly awkward in an almost sexual way. Keelani wasn’t convinced.

“I think they are all fake,” she said in an entirely convinced voice, “I think he made  _ three _ images, and that he’s hiding somewhere behind the scene having a laugh at us all.”

Tilayan just grinned at the one in dress and winked, because she vividly recognized the cloth she’d seen Garak working on. Beside her, Sokal just gave up, speechless as he was.

“At least, it’s not the child,” he made the easy guess. Behind him, Iltarel found himself quite flushed and kept silent.

The Glain in drag clapped hands once and the two other images disappeared, leaving him alone and chuckling.

“I told you Kilem is extremely smart,” he told his father who whimpered a bit in defeat and leaned back in his chair, murmuring ‘ _ Glain _ ’ to himself in a half-pleading, half-complaining voice.

Kilem however drummed his knuckles on his knees in delight and got up to scuttle over to his brother, take his hands and dance around with him in a little circle.

“Where did you get that dress?” Sokal felt the need to ask as the dress flew most elegantly around the whirling young man. “It’s a very fine work.”

“Garak. The tailor on Terok Nor,” Glain answered honestly.

“I see.”

“Go wash your face, now,” Iltarel glared at his friend.

“I’m glad Enjam wasn’t here to see that,” Keelani commented, though she frowned a bit to herself, “or maybe it would’ve done him good.”

“ _ Keelani _ …” Nall extended his complaint to her, too.

Behind them, Elem turned to Iltarel, saw his state and decided to leave him alone, instead turning to Sokal, to ask him if he liked Glain’s makeup, which prompted a discussion about professional dramatic cosmetics, followed by something more technical about the show itself and the holograms.

“The show is over, Glain,” Iltarel cleared his voice behind the couple. “Aren’t you going to take off all that now?”

“You want me to get naked and smear makeup off my face now?” Glain teased him back. “Now  _ that _ would be quite disorderly, luzzur –” Iltarel got up and strode out of the room at once. “Don’t worry, he’s always like that,” Glain chuckled. “I’ll be back,” he still excused himself to follow his friend.

“Iltarel,” he caught his friend’s arm as he ran after him in the corridor.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything and don’t touch me,” the albino glared at him, then immediately looked away again, instead entering his friend’s room by habit. “Why do you have to be so disorderly, Glain Rokat? I can’t believe- I’m not bringing Dayar in this house anytime soon; you’re a shame to the eye and I won’t let him be hurt by your-” he turned around again and lost his words to the entrancing sight in front of him. “Why do you do this to me!?” he shot instead.

“ _ You _ take it personally,” Glain pointed. “That my father would be offended? I can understand, I didn’t expect him to appreciate this entirely. I did it for my mother.  _ She _ would have loved it, I  _ know _ . But you? Iltarel, my luzzur, why-”

“-Don’t luzzur me again! And get that makeup off your face. You’re-  _ It’s wrong _ for a man to be like this. You’re not planning to turn yourself into a woman, are you?”

A bit of surprise washed on the younger’s face.

“No… but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he realized. “If I’d been a woman, things would have been different between us, wouldn’t they?” he thinned his eyes.

“Ridiculous,” Iltarel denied although his neck got darker again. “It would have been an entirely different situation, but it’s not what  _ is _ , so there’s  _ no point _ in discussing this nonsense. You’re a man and you’d do better to ...become a man again,” he sneered.

Glain stood there, looking at his friend and feeling quite hurt. Too many thoughts were passing through his mind, most of them worries for the future.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for you,” he said. “You’ve always been a tease to me but I’ve always cared for you, luzzur-”

“-I don’t want to hear about it, Glain!” Iltarel cut off in annoyance and despair. “Please! Be normal for once!”

“And what of Dayar? Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

“What?” the albino stared at the accusation, not understanding what his friend meant.

“Forgive me if I have to make it clearer; if your brain can’t compute those things well enough-” he stepped forth and laid his hands on Iltarel’s neck, stroking his scales while his lips went for his.

The clerk whined, trying to resist by pushing him away, but found himself clinging to his hips instead. And when Glain’s tongue teased his lips and invaded him, he didn’t oppose. He didn’t respond either at first, but as the heat grew between them, his fingers were first to get more possessive, taking hold of the young man in the dress, claiming him close until desire spread to all of his body language like poison.

“Glain…” he tried to protest in between kisses, his voice ragged and dark like the sinful lipstick he tasted in this inappropriate contact. “This is wrong…”

“For once, I agree with you,” the youth finally broke the contact and stepped back to look at the mess he’d turn Iltarel into. “But don’t you deny it again. You like me. And now what? What are you going to do? What are  _ we _ going to do?”

“Nothing,” Iltarel grunted and turned away, trying to cool down.

“Stop running away!” Glain flared. “Don’t you see we have a problem?”

“We  _ don’t _ have a problem. You’re a man, I’m a man, the situation is clear: nothing is going to happen between us.”

“Now that logic would work if you were a Vulcan, but you’re not,” he snarked. “Let me make it clearer. I love you, luzzur. I don’t want to lose you to Dayar. I don’t want you to choose between us. But I believe he’s perceptive enough to see what feelings you have for me, and I don’t want him to be hurt when he’s already so vulnerable.”

Iltarel had to give it a thought, and he was forced to agree. Dayar already thought him to be infatuated with Glain, didn’t he? That he might even be right after all was all the more infuriating, but also… worrying, he reckoned. Glain was right.

“Well. It’s simple,” he said hotly. “We just have to make sure the three of us never meet together.”

“Are you that much of an idiot?” Glain was almost stunned by the naivety. “No, you have to tell him. There’s no point in hiding that away from him, and if you  _ really _ like him, you  _ will _ , Iltarel Jarad.” Glain rarely ever called him by his full name.

“I can’t tell him that…” the albino whimpered. “We had such a nice time together… You don’t understand that, do you? Because you’re not in love. You date people you don’t care about,” he accused.

It was getting petty and personal. Exactly what Glain didn’t want. He took a deep breath and went over to the little bathroom to start removing the makeup. Silence settled, leaving the two of them time to think about the situation. At last, the young man took off the dress, standing clad only in tight underwear and long black stockings for a moment before removing those too, in favor of more normal clothes.

“Come,” he led Iltarel to the bed and had him lay there with him.

For a long moment they didn’t say anything, only communicating through the touch of finger kisses.

“We’re not children anymore… It’s time to be responsible, Iltarel.”

“Being responsible means acting like a true Cardassian. You know what that means… I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to lose Dayar either…”

“Then make sure you don’t let go off our hands,” Glain kissed him on the jaw ridge, where traces of black lipstick lingered, and laid his head on his chest. “I love you, luzzur…”

“I love you too…” Iltarel finally admitted. What was he going to do now?

Suddenly, the door opened and Keelani stopped on the threshold. Close to her heart, she held all the flowery regrets she could muster, wishing she would’ve pressed the chime and not just gone inside. She cleared her throat. Then looked at the mess Iltarel was, then at the cause of this mess, which was easy enough to derive was Glain.

“You’ll want to wash that makeup off before Nall sees you, Iltarel,” she said discreetly through her teeth.

Iltarel thought he was going to die of shame on spot and had to stop Glain when the young man instinctively tried to wipe lipstick off his face – couldn’t he  _ act _ like a real man!?

“...Also there’s sweet juices and fish-drink back in the common-room,” Keelani smiled more widely, “and I believe you left before you got to hear the news – Elem and Sokal are getting enjoined and moving to Paldar.”

“So they told him already,” Glain hopped off the bed since Iltarel wasn’t going to let him help.

“That man didn’t lose any time,” the albino hissed wrathfully as he headed to the bathroom.

“Don’t be angry at him instead of me,” his friend rolled his eyes. “So, how did father react?” he asked Keelani instead.

She looked after Iltarel, pointing a bit after him and shrugged.

“Like that, but with better temper control,” she pulled a chair near the door, and sat on it. “He thinks it’s too soon. He made it part of the agreement that Dain must first get a house full of furniture to put Elem in. Then tried to also force him to have his fertility  _ and _ mentality tested, and made some not-so-subtle remark about him having Tovak’s Syndrome. I believe Dain took great offense.”

“Ha, give it to a Conservator to be hurtful!” Glain laughed.

Then he understood by Keelani’s expression that by “ _ Dain took great offense _ ” she probably meant “ _ Nall was over-protective and Dain was incensed, why, I thought they’d get at each other’s throat! _ ”

She spared him the details that Nall had practically offered  _ her _ house to Elem just to keep her close, and that the young couple had to remind him that  _ Glain _ was his rightful heir and deserving of that heritage, and that the Notator tried to bargain that  _ Nall too _ had his mentality tested.

“They were doing their best to repair relations when I left – I get teary-eyed with boredom each time Nall tells that story about when Enar Dain interrogated the wrong suspect.”

“It’s a pity father has to be so guarded,” Glain hummed. “I can’t fault him for that, of course, but I believe Dain will be a very good match for Elem, and it would be  _ very _ hard to find anyone more fit than him. I think he has all it takes to make her happy, and his family seems respectable.”

Keelani sighed in approval, glancing after Iltarel.

“You know, you should be nice to that boy,” she scolded Glain, “it really  _ wasn’t _ very nice to dress up like that. Neither to him, nor to your father. The only one who seemed to actually enjoy your show was Kilem, and maybe Tilayan and His Dain. Everyone else were really rather uncomfortable – it was disorderly, Glain, and not in a good way.”

“ _ I _ get to honor my mother’s memory the way  _ I _ see fit,” he replied a bit sharply. “ _ Don’t live your life without drama and poetry, Glain. Don’t settle in calm defeat when you could light a fire under which that arouses your mind and creativity _ ,” he quoted. “Words she passed onto me among her shri-tal logs, and I intend to follow her advice. I am  _ her son _ .” He had to stop there as he felt his eyes prickle with a promise of tears. 

“Yes, but  _ Glain _ ,” Keelani’s voice became a bit harsher, “I’m pretty sure by that, your mother didn’t mean  _ slip into a dress, dunk your face in makeup and throw yourself at people who didn’t consent to seeing this disorderly act _ ,” she crossed one leg over her knee and leaned back in her chair. “Sweetscale, everyone does naughty things, even things otherwise illegal, but they do so behind  _ closed doors _ , with  _ consenting audiences _ . That is what dictates the line between what you can and cannot do. For what you did, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Order sent you a lecture on discretion in your next batch of mail, and an official warning to go along with it. You  _ can’t _ do things like these – you put not only yourself at risk, but everyone who saw you, too. And that is why your father is not very happy with you, and I expect what  _ he _ has to say to you is even  _ less  _ pleasant than this.” She sighed and looked at the bathroom door. “Do you know how long Iltarel has been attracted to you, Glain? I don’t understand why you have to be so cruel to him; you know it’ll never work, and furthermore, you know that even if he feels this way for you, that doesn’t mean he wishes to pursue it.”

“It’s not cruelty,” Glain denied. “If he’s going to pursue Dayar, he must make a choice, but one cannot get rid of what they don’t first acknowledge exists. Now he acknowledged it.” He silenced as his friend returned, looking at them both.

“I’d rather we don’t talk about this ever again,” he said.

Glain didn’t reply but the way he looked at Keelani clearly meant “ _ see what I mean? _ ” and Keelani snorted loudly.

“Glain, darling, forgive me for being this blunt but... are you genuinely so stupid that you think you know better about those things than I do?” she crossed her arms over her chest. “Denial  _ is _ a choice, and it is a choice for a reason. If you think so poorly of your friends’ self-insight, then you won’t have many friends left in the end. Now,” she got up and waved toward the door, “off with you both, boys; we’re going to be  _ socially acceptable _ before your father comes here to chew you out already. If you’re lucky, he’s so engrossed in trying to figure out how to break Dain that he will have forgotten how upset he is at you, Glain.”

Quite unfortunately, as they returned, Sokal had slipped out the information that Glinn Reyal had been spreading rumors that Elem was Nall’s bastard child, and the Conservator was forced to realized he’d become rusty – few years before, such a thing wouldn’t have escaped his radar. He glanced at Iltarel and Glain who both had warned him, and whom he had both ignored, and chose to ignore them again. It was the eve of the trial, nothing could be done anyway.

“He’s spread rumors about me before, the public will see it as yet another attempt to slander me,” he smiled a bit, despite the unease this brought him, “And do you believe him?” he asked Sokal.

“I recorded Elem, I don’t need to believe, Your Rokat. I  _ know _ ,” the Notator couldn’t help but grin a little.

He could have expanded more on the topic but chose not to, because Nall had been way too offensive to deserve this kindness anymore. Conservator Naker had pestered him for those records, but Sokal had chosen to act sloppy to stall for time, sending the details of  _ Melekor Rokat _ ’s file instead of Elem’s – weren’t they the same person? Nobody but him needed to know of his personal fight for the woman he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter comes the trial! What will happen? What will become of the Rokat family?  
> We'll let you hang on that cliff until we get some comments about what's been going so far!
> 
> Don't know what to comment about? Here are some leads:
> 
> • your favorite/least liked characters  
> • your favorite/least liked moments  
> • the Cardassian life we're painting  
> • foods that sound the tastiest/worst
> 
> (copy-pasting lines you like is still fine!)


	22. II - The Trial

# The Trial

Sunyal felt quite delighted to be attending the trial. She’d looked forward to it and held herself straight in her seat to be as representative as she could. To her right was a boy named Gumal, somewhat slouched and already a bit bored. To her left was a girl named Dizani. A weird name, Sunyal thought, but she knew better than to comment on it. At least, Dizani seemed interested in what was going on. Perhaps a bit too much – the way she stared at everything was about disorderly, and the Ordinator constantly had to whisper to her not to stare like that. Sunyal couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the woman, but then, it was her job to make sure kids behaved and understood what was going on.

The criminal of that day was Glinn Enker Reyal, and there were some big names among the testifiers, such as Gul Skrain Dukat and Conservator Nall Rokat. The little girl knew that bragging wasn’t proper, but she knew she’d still find more subtle ways to boast about having attended a real big trial, and thus paid effort to remember everything as much as possible.

The accused was sentenced to death. His assigned Nestor seemed quite untouched by that, and his family disassociated from him the second they were given the chance, which, the Ordinator pointed, was a very proper reaction for them to have. Then came the detail of Reyal’s situation and the accusation. And the testimonies – Gul Dukat was most eloquent, Sunyal had to admire. He was a little bit scary too, but that was maybe due to the military uniform and the authority with which he spoke. Still, the girl was more interested in seeing Nall Rokat, because her parents had been very excited when they learned a _Conservator_ was going to _testify_ at the trial attended by their own precious little girl. And a popular Conservator, no less. Sunyal knew the man had just lost his wife who was very sick or something – but romantic love was still vastly alien to her as a concept, and she didn’t conceive yet that one could be sad from the loss of someone who wasn’t a blood relative.

He was really very old, Sunyal thought when she saw him. Older than her grandfather, for sure, and _he_ was already very old. How old could one become? she had to wonder. She chastised herself inwardly when she realized how much her musing distracted her from what the man was actually saying, and focused again, although this all was getting to be quite long.

Next was a certain Glain Rokat. The _son_ of the Conservator. That was getting to be interesting, especially since he too was going to be a Conservator – she’d be able to say “ _I saw him in his prime youth, before he even were a Conservator_ ,” and so she puffed herself up a bit in anticipation. He was quite handsome, that one, and a _lot_ younger than his father. How did that happen?

At last, Conservator Naker started his job, producing the confession out of his client. The little girl couldn’t understand why the Conservator held such a spark of malice in the eye, almost vicious and satisfied already – only the Rokats could understand that glimmer. For all the resilience Naker had, what he’d learned about his colleague, Nall, was enough to set on fire the grudge he’d grown for him ever since Iltarel quit his position – a position Naker had given him _on Rokat’s recommendation_. It was payback time, and in the box, Reyal was stoic.

“I have done wrong to Cardassia,” he admitted with regret. “In all honesty, I did what I thought was right, but _I_ was wrong and misled. I confess, I was misled, but my deepest regret as I sit here, is to face death with the knowledge that taint remains while I disappear.”

“Taint?” Naker asked. “Would you care to explain what you mean?”

“Taint,” Reyal repeated. “The sort of taint that misled me in my action. Confusion, delusion, error… While I am the only one here to get punished, I am not the only one in this court to be guilty.”

“I presume you would know a lot about guilt, but are you so certain this is relevant to the current case?” the Conservator paced gracefully toward the accused.

“Most relevant,” the Glinn ensured. “I do not deny that my actions were wrong; they _were_ extremely wrong and I deserve my fate, but I _abhor_ the reason for which my culpability came into light, Conservator. All of Cardassia must know that _Glain Rokat_ triggered my accusation _now_ in order to hide something his father, _Nall Rokat_ , kept hidden for too long.”

“Do you imply that they exposed your crime to hide their own?” Naker looked at him with sharp green eyes, standing in an angle he knew looked most good on camera 2.

“I do. As the young Rokat said, he went to Bajor, but it wasn’t just to mine data. No, his prime goal was to meet with a person he brought here, to Cardassia. And not just any person: the living proof that his father, _Nall Rokat_ , had a bastard child with an _alien!_ ” he grinned viciously.

Naker showed surprise and shock: “This is a grave accusation, Glinn Reyal! And this court will not take it lightly! Our Archon,” he turned to her in submission, “How shall we proceed with this?”

“All those who meet with criticism in a public medium, be it from clean citizens or from...” Archon Niyela looked at Reyal, “more questionable sources,” she gathered, and hastened on, “have the right to, within a month of said accusations, clear their name over broadcast,” she straightened up. “However, in the interest of this case and the exact nature of the accusation, I decree to hasten the procedure and send an identification check between His Nall Rokat and...” she reviewed her memories quickly, then sighed in the frustration of having to deal with this whole new subsection of rotten eggs; “I need the name of the bastard,” she demanded.

“Elem Kel,” Reyal gave it away. “And she _lives_ currently in _his house_ ,” he cared to specify.

“Well, that’s dubious but not necessarily incriminating,” Naker commented as to hold some neutrality, although he knew very well by now (thanks to the Notator’s late answer) that Elem and Nall were related.

Niyela slammed her hand on the side of her chair for silence, frustrated over how both Reyal and Naker had the absolute nerve to give her more than the actual name.

“Any further submission of irrelevant data will be added to the record of misconduct,” she warned the Conservator, while all she really wanted to do was to tell him to fuck off with that attitude. “Miss Gijal,” she called to her assistant, who sat behind the scenes, “will you please summon one Elem Kel to court, and call in Doctor Runel? I need a fresh, non-tampered, comparative DNA screening of Miss Elem Kel compared to that of Nall Rokat,” she paused, flicking through the files she’d read in her head. “I’d also like to screen her against his brother Enjam Rokat, and while you’re at it, pull up the old records of his paternal parent and grandparent too.” Then, she simply called for order again, “Until such a time that the result has come up, this trial will be in recess.” She made a cutthroat gesture to the cameramen, and then pointed at Naker: “You. My ready room. _Now._ ”

 

While Archon Niyela chewed off Naker, Doctor Runel took upon the tedious task of screening a bunch of men. Oh, she was extremely apt at medical science. Bedside manner, however, wasn’t something she’d wasted time on delving too deep into, as she personally felt like she’d rather go to a doctor who shut up and did their job, than one who tried to deliver conversational distraction.

She took Enjam’s sample first, as he had been the first to report in. He was an ideal patient for her – silent, obedient and swift; something that was contrary to most military men, who had a tendency to think they had the right to question orders just because they happened to be a Glinn or a Gul, but forgetting that the medical room wasn’t their domain of expertise.

Then, she screened Nall Rokat, who was a much more annoying subject; first he tried to make small talk, and when that didn’t work, he continued to tell her about the birth of his son, Glain, and how proud he’d been to hold his baby in his arms. The idea that she’d somehow care about him and his children was absurd, but since she hadn’t been authorized to gag the patients (there was a protocol for this), she had no choice but to let him go on.

The half-breed surprised her in that it looked more Cardassian than alien. She wasn’t sure whether this was positive or not, but noted in her personal record that she had concerns that she might spread a new kind of public paranoia off of the thought that, perhaps, you couldn’t tell aliens from real Cardassians by just a glance.

Then, she brought down the dead ancestors’ records and worked alone for fifteen minutes. Or at least, it was supposed to be fifteen minutes.

 

While Nall, Glain, Enjam, and Elem were now seated in the witness’s stand with Dukat (who was growing increasingly restless), the time was unexpectedly doubled to thirty minutes. The longer it went, the more darkened Enjam became.

“I’ll disassociate myself,” he threatened in a hushed voice, to which Nall had no response.

“Please don’t,” tried Elem, which only made it worse, in that Enjam adopted an expression of having been personally attacked.

 

After exactly thirty-five minutes and twenty-three seconds, the Archon appeared again and the trial was taken back into session. Of course, this only meant that she got to spend the next fifteen minutes summarizing what had happened previously, in case anyone had missed or forgotten (some elderly people had a particularly hard time following trials that were split into several chapters).

Then, the Archon clapped the chair and cleared her throat.

“Conservator Naker, does your client still stand by his accusation?” she asked down to the scene.

The Conservator, more sheepish than before, looked at Reyal who nodded, then back at his superior.

“He does,” he said simply, with a tone that suggested he was sorry about it, didn’t approve of it, and that the man might be completely mad.

Niyela nodded and then made a sweeping hand gesture to invite Runel to take the witness’s seat, where the lights settled on her.

“What have you found, Doctor?”

The woman cleared her throat and held the PADD in front of her. Elem wished Glain wasn’t between him and Nall, because she’d never wanted to hold her father’s hand as much as she did in this moment.

“Medical evidence has proven that Elem Kel is the illegitimate child of one Ywanna Kel and Melekor Rokat,” Runel looked up from the PADD, crystal blue eyes glimmering, “There’s no father-child relation between Elem Kel and Nall Rokat.”

Then, she left the stall as Niyela gave her the nod to let her go.

Nall managed to hide his surprise entirely, mostly because he’d been so prepared to hold a straight face that nothing could prevent it. Elem however, was blinking frantically in an attempt to understand what had just been said, Glain had simply frozen in syntax error, and _Enjam_ had seemingly forgotten how to close his mouth.

“What?” he burst after some moments of silence, immediately regretting his outburst, as the Archon sent him a chastising look: “I’m sorry, Our Archon.”

Not losing his temper as much, Naker chastised Reyal for his wrong accusation, which did nothing to shut the man off.

“But I wasn’t _entirely_ wrong! She’s a Rokat bastard!” he tried to defend his point, although he was a bit stunned to have missed the shot. “ _You_ misled me!” he pointed at Glain, standing up in rage. “You disorderly little-”

“ _Your Reyal!_ ” Naker glared at him with great offense and the military sat back (muttering something like ‘ _a Rokat alien bastard_ ’). “I believe the guilt of my client has been most clearly established and I wish to rest my case,” the Conservator turned to the Archon.

“Indeed you have, and you may rest,” Niyela agreed, and then continued to dictate the sentence, and all the formalia surrounding it, ending with knuckle applause from the children.

Finally, the transmission ended and she pooled back in her chair with a sigh, rubbing her forehead as the guards dragged out Reyal.

Elem looked sidewise at Glain, who wasn’t her brother, then at Nall, who wasn’t her father, and then at Enjam, who wasn’t her uncle. Dukat left, seemingly amused, as did Reyal’s estranged family. Enjam joined them, probably to get away from Nall, and assumed an entirely out-of-place normal conversation with Reyal’s no-longer-wife, which she seemed to find some sort of comfort in.

Finally, Nall got up from his seat and took a deep breath.

“Let’s go home, I suppose.”

## * * *

The way back had been one awkward moment. Nobody talked. They just either stared or avoided to look at each other entirely. They probably all tried to reassess their vision of the family tree, and certainly failed at it too. Glain vividly remembered when he first tried to see Elem – ‘Melekor’ then – as a brother. After all it took – a suicide attempt, no less – to acknowledge his sibling as such, he wasn’t sure how to see the situation anymore. Switching from brother to sister had been easy; it was just a matter of gender, nothing dramatic in the least. But now this? Elem was his _aunt?_ Like Enjam was his uncle? That just didn’t click.

When they finally came back home, he felt like he barely knew who himself was anymore.

 

“Welcome back,” Keelani chimed from the kitchen, where she’d sat some candles on stone plates, surrounded by small bowls of a soft, smooth dessert she liked to call _mawak pudding_.

When there wasn’t a reply, she left her crypt to gesture to them to come in there, which they did.

“I can’t believe it,” Nall finally spoke as he sat in his chair, “not only did she leave me, but she had an affair _with my own father_ ,” he looked at the candles. “Who would’ve guessed?” – Keelani shrugged.

“It wasn’t exactly hard to guess – here you go, Elem,” she handed her a bowl as she sat down, avoiding to look at anyone.

“You mean you knew?!” Nall burst, looking up at her.

She paid him no mind, instead guiding Glain to sit down, ushering the bowl with his favourite topping towards him.

“I’m the housekeeper – and these walls aren’t exactly soundproofed. Besides,” she sat down on her chair and took a bowl for herself, “your father was _quite_ a slut.”

“You can’t say that!” Nall protested, but somehow, his passion to defend his father wasn’t what it used to be.

“I can – he often brought lady friends over. When I was new here, ah, we even tried it once,” she smiled at Nall’s shock, “only once. Then, I told him no more; I felt too bad for your mother. And that’s the story of how I got him to sign that house on me – it was an exchange for my unwavering silence – but since we’re getting enjoined, I don’t have to cling too hard to it, do I?”

Nall didn’t answer and that was when Glain burst in laughter because it was getting to be too much.

“What happens now?” he asked.

“Now... now she enjoins into the Dain family, and it’ll no longer be our problem,” Nall finally concluded, lifting his spoon with some pudding in it.

“That’s a bit cold,” Keelani remarked with a swift look to Elem, who had sunk a bit in her chair, not really in the mood for eating, “you accepted her into your family-”

“-on the premise that she was my daughter. But she isn’t – she isn’t _mine_ ,” he looked at Keelani with decisiveness.

“But-”

“-Elem, I’d like you to pack your things and go,” he didn’t even look at her, not even as she abruptly got up and left the room.

Both Keelani and Glain stared at him like they’d seen him commit murder.

“I don’t care whose daughter she is, she’s my _family_ and you’re wrong!” the boy blurted out as he got up. “I’m sorry,” he added more softly to Keelani, as to excuse his sudden leaving the table to run after Elem.

 

He called her name in a murmur as he came in the room, hurrying to go hug her back. She kept drying her face with the back of her hand as she tried to stuff her clothes in the bag sat on her bed. Her eyes were crying on their own, and she let them – it wasn’t as if she could’ve stopped them.

She hadn’t expected anyone to come after her, and so, she gratefully turned around, held onto Glain and wept against his shoulder, hugging him hard, to comfort him, too.

“I’m sorry, Elem, I’m so sorry… Whatever they say, you’re my sister and I love you…” he promised.

“I’ll be fine,” she croaked to his ear, “I’ll go to Sokal. He’ll know what to do. I’ll be fine.”

For a rather long while, it was just the two of them hugging, between cries and less or more intelligible bits of sentences to reassure each other. Kisses too, as Glain nuzzled her hair with affection.

When the tears calmed down at last, he thought he should try to be helpful, deciding to accompany her and contact his sister’s future family.

The call was picked instantly by Sokal and Enar (and it seemed like the rest of the family was getting closer to try and see). Glain was a bit stunned by the sight.

“The answer is yes, she can come,” Sokal answered before neither Glain nor Elem had a chance to ask.

They decided to meet halfway, and off went the not-siblings brother and sister. Glain tried to cheer her up with the notion that she would be free to enjoin, now, but regretted his words instantly, because they both knew Elem wouldn’t have any parent to attend the celebration. He tried to divert the topic but eventually just resumed to silence. Sometimes, words were too much.

They left without a goodbye and headed to the transport station. The ride was silent, but he hoped that Elem could find comfort in his presence. He’d taken her hand in his, to show he was with her even if they didn’t speak. At some point he realized that people were looking at them. Recognizing them. It’d been long since he last had to deal with this, and for the time being, he just chose to ignore it. He’d save his reactions for work.

 

Kemaren was a very popular borough of Torr, and still quite animated despite the late hour. It was warm, a bit dirty, maybe, and some people could be heard being a bit loud – cheery or drunken, possibly both – but the atmosphere wasn’t threatening. It was joyful and filled with the smell of food coming from many restaurants. A smell of ale also lingered in places, but the station was relatively spared.

When Elem and Glain made their way out of the transport, they found themselves in a mild crowd. Enar and Sokal must have spotted them first, considering they practically appeared by their side as if they’d just beamed there.

“Glad to see you made it in one piece,” Enar smiled rather warmly.

Sokal couldn’t help but take Elem’s hand then hug her entirely in complete disregard of etiquette. Not that anyone would care in Kemaren.

She held him and let herself be held, allowing for herself to rely on him, until she found the strength to make some distance and turn to Glain. She took his fingertips in her hands and smiled, although that smile nearly felt like tears as they exchanged goodbyes. Glain promised to try and reason Nall, although he reckoned his old man must be very hurt.

“He was a wonderful father while it lasted,” Elem mumbled as she clung to Glain’s fingers, looking at the connection between them. She’d lost her father twice, now. “We should go...” she let her hand slip away and backed a little, “You stay focused on your end goals, okay? Don’t let the thought of me distract you, promise me that.”

He nodded and she didn’t want to say more, so she turned and let Sokal and Enar help her disappear into the masses. Some people were looking at her, and it took her a moment to understand why people had been looking at her so much ever since she left the house.

They all knew. Who she was, what she was. They all _knew_.

## * * *

It wasn’t until long after Elem and Glain had left the house that Nall finally decided to stop ignoring her.

“How could you do this to me?” he’d asked, still relatively calm – or at least, calm on the surface.

“Do what?” Keelani asked casually from the dishes, which she had decided to tackle.

“You know what I mean,” Nall snarled, not caring to elaborate.

“And I can’t believe you did that to Elem,” she countered instead of answering his question, which caused him to get up so hastily that his chair tipped over.

“You knew there was a chance she wasn’t mine! And yet you let her come here with her claims, silent as you watched me take all she had to say at face value. _How_ could you do that to me?”

He’d paced around the table and came to stand next to her, which was rather a threatening position, and he knew it.

“There was _just_ as much a chance that she was yours,” Keelani set a plate in the drying racket, at which Nall snatched the plate and threw it at the opposite wall, causing Keelani to stop all she was doing, just looking at the froth on her hands.

“Nall Rokat. If you think you can scare me, think again,” she turned and glared at him. He looked as though he was going to slap her, and for just a moment of a second, she really thought he would. And just a small tingle of fear came alive within her.

“You made a fool out of me, and you betrayed me –” she could see his jaws clenching and unclenching under the skin.

“I. Am. A. Housekeeper,” she punctuated each word as if he were stupid, “I keep secrets. That’s my _job_.”

“Father died a long time ago! You should have protected _me_ , not _him_ ,” then his eyes widened and he slammed the counter. “What’s wrong with you women? You’re all so fiercely loyal to Melekor that you prefer him, even when he’s _dead!_ ”

“And what use would you have had of me telling you of all the affairs he had?” Keelani countered, balling her hands, still dripping with soap, into fists, “It would’ve done nothing but hurt you! I _know_ you never wanted to think of Ywanna ever again. I couldn’t tell you, you wouldn’t have wanted to know!”

“She had a child!”

“A lot of his women probably did! I never knew of any of those pregnancies either – what do you think I am, some kind of pregnancy-radar?!”

“Elem was here for a good while, and you still didn’t bring it up.”

“Because I was bound by _oath_ ,” Keelani’s head was starting to hurt, “a housekeeper cannot share such secrets, or else her loyalty cannot be ensured.”

“You’re not a housekeeper anymore,” Nall’s nostrils flared.

“You should’ve proposed to me earlier, then,” she countered.

Nall’s eyes got cold.

“That is not what I meant. You’re not a housekeeper anymore, because you’re fired, and I want you gone by the morning.”

Keelani had to lean against the counter, eyes wide in shock.

“Nall... you can’t-”

“-I can, and I do. I don’t want you here, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear your voice. I can’t believe I nearly made you part of my family – you’re nothing but a scamming, lying, deceitful, dishonest, selfish _woman_ ,” he pointed at the door, “and you’re _leaving!_ ”

Keelani gathered herself enough to swallow her tears and turn them into fire in her belly.

“You can’t fire me, because _I quit_ . You, _man_ , are a selfish, spoiled, irresponsible, psychopathic sack of fish entrails!”

Then, she took her apron on and threw it in his face, just so he wouldn’t have to see her as she exited – it was only as she turned around the corner that she realized Glain was there. The young man stared at them, frozen in place as if time had stopped. Then he suddenly animated again, a gush of energy running through him like liquid lava.

“Did I just _hear_ what I _heard!?_ ” he shouted at them both. “What in sweet Cardassia is wrong with you, people!?” he gesticulated, pacing around them with judgemental disbelief. “How can you do this to each other!? How can you let _sentiment_ run you like this!?” he looked at them wildly.

He stood in the middle, trying to still his breath and keep in control of his own emotion. He’d never seen them like this. Never.

Nall groaned, while Keelani turned a bit to at least give Glain a bit of a compassionate look.

“I’m sorry Glain, but I’m not going to serve – and even less so _enjoin_ – a man who puts himself _above_ the laws that dictate the role of a Housekeeper. I serve Cardassia first, as _should he,_ but he’s a miserable, insufferable-”

“-if you don’t leave now, I’ll call authorities and have you hauled off of _my_ property. And _you_ ,” he pointed at Glain with his entire hand, “go to your room.”

“You’re both being ridiculous,” his son refused to move. “You-” he pointed at his father, “-are overreacting. Just because you’re hurt doesn’t mean Keelani should bear the blame of it all. _You_ should have required the proof that Elem was your child instead of blindly believing the word of that deceitful lying piece of Betazoid trash – I _can’t_ believe you didn’t do it! You let your emotion take over from the moment Garak called you,” he hissed. “ _You_ had the power to ask for this verification but you prefer to blame Keelani rather than _yourself_ . But _you_ -” he turned to Keelani now, “-could have used more sentiment!” he looked at her with reproach mixing with unease – he liked her and didn’t want to be mad at her; she was Keelani. She was the housekeeper. But she’d done wrong.

“You’re hiding behind your oath now,” he continued his accusation, “but you could have _hinted_ . You could have made him question the idea that, _maybe_ , he wasn’t the only man she’d been with because those Betazoid absurdities are absolute sluts,” he argued. “You could have reminded him to get that proof that he was indeed Elem’s father.” He let his arms flop lamely. “We’ve all messed up, right, but maybe it’s time to save what can still be saved instead of setting the entire house on fire.”

Keelani crossed her arms over her chest while Nall went to sit in one of the chairs, sighing as he ungracefully leaned his chin against his hands.

“I didn’t think it’d make any difference,” Keelani finally admitted, “it wasn’t going to become public, and she was so clearly related to the family. Nall and her very clearly _loved_ each other – I couldn’t question that!” she flailed her arms out, then crossed them again glaring at Nall. “I can’t believe you did that to her. You gave her a father, and then you took it away. Just like that. All she wanted was someone to love,” her voice choked a little, because she’d ended up thinking about herself. “I have to go,” she muttered and left for the other house. Nall said nothing, still.

Glain sighed but didn’t oppose her departure – he knew she was more reasonable than his father, especially in this instant. Instead, he moved with natural grace to land himself behind his father’s chair, and there, he hugged him, burying his nose in his hair.

“I love you, I love you so much, father,” he whimpered like a song, “Please, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t be so cruel… I don’t want to see you hurt, nor to let you do something you’ll come to regret when the fire cools down…”

“Glain, go to bed,” Nall told his son in a monotone voice, “if you think I’m cruel, it’s only because you, yourself, are full of emotions and sentiment. Perhaps one day you’ll understand the necessity for trust, and that day you’ll know why Elem and Keelani must go,” he took a deep breath. “We’re going to have to find another housekeeper. A woman who holds secrets well, but who is smart enough to know when to talk.”

“We’re going to have to find a new housekeeper regardless,” Glain answered. “I might know someone who might be fit for the position, but _please_ , don’t send Keelani away, father. If you know what trust is, _don’t_ ,” he sighed through his nose, causing his breath to brush his father’s neck. “Iltarel betrayed me,” he said, “but I will never discard him, because he is my friend and I trust him. That’s how it is, father. Family and luzzurs are this safe haven where trust never is challenged by betrayal, but when we deceive ourselves, we deceive others… That’s why we must forgive. Because we’re all guilty, always. You’re a Conservator, you know it.”

“Don’t tell me what I know and don’t know,” Nall bit back at Glain, with perhaps more frustration than was due. It was getting difficult to keep controlled, and he didn’t want to end up hurting his own child, “Go to bed, Glain. Please.”

“Alright, but what will _you_ do?” Glain asked, starting to tense. “We got rid of all the alcohol in the house,” he prepared himself to hold a more physical outburst, arms locked around his father’s thin shape: “I wiped the replicator’s program too.”

Nall took a deep breath and tried to count to ten in his head.

“Glain, if you don’t go to bed _right now_ , I’ll end up giving you such a hard time that even _you_ will start to beg for Melekor to come back from the dead,” he tried to put it subtly enough that Glain would get it, without making it into more of a threat than a warning.

Yet, that was more than enough and something inside the young man turned into a cold void in which echoed words. Words that should never had belonged to his father, but now did.

Nall, in his own mind, had already twirled around and smacked Glain across the cheek. In reality, the son was physically stronger than the father, and instead of getting up, the old man collapsed back on the chair like a useless puppet.

“I don’t want to hurt you...!” he protested against... himself? Maybe?

Steeling himself with the lyrics of his coping song, Glain straightened up, stepped back and moved away, keeping his eyes on the man at all times.

“I’ll be staying at Keelani’s,” he said. “I’ll come back when she does, and when Nall does too. In anyway, I’ll see you at work in four days if we don’t see each other until then – but I’m Nall Rokat’s son, and if he asks for me, I’ll come, always,” he promised to the man in the kitchen chair.

## * * *

Back in the house in Torr, Elem already missed the house in Paldar, the sound of the children and the kittens, the way Keelani sometimes hummed to herself when she thought she was alone, and Nall’s muttering about notes from his workroom. She winced at the thought of him and had to bite herself in the tongue not to cry again.

How could he just _shut off_ what he felt for her? He had loved her, she knew he had. She’d seen it in his eyes – and she loved him. She still needed him. She missed him like he was a vital organ missing from her chest… It was as if he were dead! As if her father was dead…

Which he was. Melekor Rokat was dead. He’d been dead all along. _He_ never would have accepted her as his child, and now, neither would Nall.

She tried not to think of it as Sokal took her to the bathroom to seek comfort in warm water together.

The room wasn’t very big, but it was extremely cozy as the space was arranged very smartly. The bath tub took most of the space, alike to a little pool in the stone-paved floor and mostly surrounded by either walls or cupboards, making it look like a little grotto, complete with rocks and plants. It was darker in there, but lit by a number of scented candles – something Elem had greatly enjoyed the previous days.

Sokal took care to fold both their clothes and lay them on the shelf meant for this use before joining Elem under the sonic shower. They rubbed each other’s body in warm silence, then went into the water. The young man exhaled in comfort and wrapped his arms around his lover. His future wife, he realized. It was strange how things had turned out.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured. “I couldn’t tell you,” he admitted. “Revealing the parent’s identity to an illegitimate child constitutes a great offense, something I cannot risk doing ever. The opposite however is perfectly legal. Of course I wasn’t confident in just telling your f- _Nall_ – in case he had a bad reaction. I didn’t want to cause you trouble,” he pinched his lips. “I _was_ going to tell him yesterday, but he had to be rude and… I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “He was so guarded about you, so…” he shook his head. “I didn’t see that coming. My father did, but not I. I’m sorry…!” he squeezed her just a little.

Elem blew some air through her nose.

“Considering his reaction, it was probably better that you _didn’t_ tell him,” her shoulders slumped. She wasn’t sure what she felt for the fact that he’d known all along. “I must have appeared so ridiculous to you, talking of him like he was my father, never questioning what my mother told me of my father’s identity... Perhaps Nall is right, perhaps I don’t have enough of a critical mind.”

“Elem, no!” he denied. “You are the child and children obey and trust their parents!” he argued in a gentle voice. “ _Him_ however! In almost fifteen years of work, be it as intern or resident, I had _never_ had any such case without the parents requiring proof of their filiation, _especially_ regarding the father. Women, they know what child they gave birth to – they usually rather want to know who the father is, although we cannot tell them of course. But _fathers_ , they always want to be sure when the child was conceived outside of enjoinment, and they often still want to know if they’re enjoined. I would want to know,” he smiled more sweetly and cooed to her ear, “because I would feel so proud to see the proof that I do have a child.”

He laid a kiss there, just against the ridge going for her cheek before continuing:

“I really thought he would contact me. In fact, I don’t understand why he didn’t ask for you to transmit a blood sample so you could be authentified first.”

“Probably for the same reason I didn’t question you,” Elem turned to face Sokal better, to look into his eyes. “He loved her, he wanted to enjoin her. I don’t think he had any idea his father, who seemingly hated her, would’ve had a relationship with her too. But... it does explain why she left so soon after he proposed to her, and...” she frowned, “it explains why she named me after Melekor. She must’ve known there was a chance, but that Nall would be the more accepting of the two of them.”

“Sentiment is a powerful thing,” he agreed. “I love you, Elem, I trust you ...but only to some extent. I hope you can do the same. Be loyal, believe in me, but don’t trust me, for both our sakes, for the sake of our children to come,” he said and looked at her with questioning eyes, as to ask what she thought of it.

Elem hesitated.

“If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be naked with you... unless you mean another kind of trust,” she frowned a bit. Not long ago, she would’ve said similar things, but something had shifted, “I’ve lived life without trust, and now that I’ve gotten a taste of what safety is, I don’t think I know any longer how to live without it.”

“I don’t think we can live without it,” Sokal nodded in agreement. “But there is trust, trust and trust. Look at my lips when I speak and you’ll see they aren’t the same word as your translator interprets,” he pointed. “There is a dangerous trust and a healthy trust. One blinds you like Nall was blinded, and one offers you the safe haven you need around certain people – typically family, possibly luzzurs if it is what it must mean. And the last one is similar to the second, but not for family nor luzzurs; for superiors and for the State, rather,” he explained.

He thought about it some more before continuing. “We all need people we can trust. Even the Obsidian Order needs people they can trust. Without this, stress increases so much it can become more blinding than trust itself… And that is why we are so compelled by instinct to trust our family. I love you, Elem, and I can feel this trust, but it is balanced by my instinct to protect you and look out for you where you don’t,” he tilted his head fondly and caressed her hair, still so short.

That way he looked at her, like she meant the world to him... she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it. Emotion clung at her belly, and she held herself closer to him, thinking of what he said.

“What... exactly is a luzzur?” she asked, thinking of Garak, wondering if what they’d had together was representative, “Is it someone you have sex with, but no feelings for? I’m sorry, Glain tried to explain these terms for me once, but I might remember them wrong.”

“It’s not necessarily that, no,” he denied. “It’s not about acts, it’s about a connection. A luzzur is someone you have a connection with, as strong as if they were of your blood,” he explained. “It’s best not to ever presume of what luzzurs may or may not do together – some may have sex, yes, but it’s not very socially acceptable to think of that, because it’s a bit like… looking at siblings and wondering if they have sex. People usually presume that luzzurs don’t,” he smiled, blushing a little. “It’s more comfortable for everybody, because what is between luzzurs is a mystery, and it’s this secret unknown that makes it so special. It is for each to write the tale of what their relationship means to them: they make it what they wish it to be.” He could guess what was on her mind and spoke it: “Garak, isn’t it? Do you think he would like to know of ... _us_?”

Elem nodded without a word, then made distance between them so she could float on her back, pretending she was weightless, and maybe in a dream. That she’d wake up tomorrow, and Nall would still be her father.

“I wish we could call him... Did you send the package yet? I’d hate to think that he’ll be left with the impression that I no longer care about him... although I guess that would be easier, for me,” she bit her lower lip, “and for us, since you do not wish to share affections with others.”

“I don’t know, luzzurs are different – I wouldn’t compete with the affection you have for those of your blood and I wouldn’t compete with a luzzur either. So long as you love me, I have nothing to fear,” he let himself sink down a bit more to relax in the warm water. “And I haven’t send it yet, I couldn’t make the time with all that was going on,” he said and offered to record a holographic letter for him later.

She agreed graciously, and he decided to take a day off on the morrow so they could do that and be together. He knew far too well of the danger of leaving a suicidal person alone after such a shock.

“I don’t have anything to do currently that’s more important than taking care of you,” he ensured. “I believe Glain is making a better use of my office than I currently would – Damar will appreciate the efficiency.”

He wished he could just hug her and kiss away the pain, replace it with joy and fill the void with tender love, but he knew healing was a long process.

“Let me take care of you, Elem. It’s all I care about right now. Let’s manage together,” he pleaded.

“It is as you wish,” Elem moved to hug him from behind and lean her chin on his shoulder. “Would you hurt me, if you knew it’d make me feel better?”

The young man thought about it.

“Not always,” he answered honestly. “I’m a doctor, I know how medicine can erase the symptoms without curing the ill. I’d rather hurt you to make you feel good than hurt you to make you feel better. If a temporary fix is what you need, I may give it to you, but it won’t be the rule, Elem.”

She wasn’t sure there existed any other way to make her feel better however – she wanted him to chase the demons from her heart, but she doubted he could achieve this with soft words and subtle touches. They didn’t understand that language ...and neither did she.

It would take time, but Sokal thought he could tame them in the end, and tame Elem too.

“Alright, let’s not worry about tomorrow yet. For now, what you need is a good night of sleep ...and I’d like you to sleep with me. In my room, in my bed,” he clarified, because they hadn’t slept there together yet.

Those words made Elem remember his earlier proposal, and a genuine chuckle, if small, left her.

“Chained up so I won’t run away?” she asked jokingly and nuzzled his cheek, “Sleep sounds good. But I want to wash my hair first. Do you have any oils I can use?”

“Of course,” he purred and kissed her, wishing he could feed her with his own warm feelings.

They ended up grooming each other in the shower as he forced her to both let him care for her and then care for him, showing her how good she made him feel so she might hopefully value how much _he_ valued her.

 

In his room, after he’d sent word to Damar and Sayad that he would be absent from work the following day (and allowed continued use of his office by Rokat), he introduced Elem to shackles he possessed and tied one around her ankle to chain her to the bed. If she needed to go, she would have to tell him, he explained, because she was his, and he was responsible for her. All she had to do was surrender and trust him to take good care of what was his. And for the first time in quite a few years now, he put on a nightgown to sleep in so they could be close without his scales risking to actually scratch her if they moved during the night. Because he cared for her and wouldn’t allow pain to occur without his complete and entire knowledge and control over it – which he couldn’t have in his sleep.

As they laid close together, Elem sunk into the warm embrace of Sokal’s scent, gently and gradually dipping into the pond of dreams. There, she laid on the mirror surface between awakeness and sleep, until the waters absorbed her and she became one with the liquid, dark and bottomless – a depth that wiped memories and emotions, and which washed her up on a shore where she was outside of time itself.

She was still asleep there, in her bed at Nall’s house. The soft cooing of some bird outside the window was the only sound to leak through her mind, pulling at her until she was vaguely awake between the silky sheets. Someone was there with her, nestled behind her back, one arm around her waist to let a warm hand gently rub the soft skin between her legs, and the other arm was underneath her, letting whoever it was wrap fingers over her mouth as he breathed against her neck.

The touch was indescribably good, and she lifted her right leg a bit, laying it backwards and atop what she guessed was his hip, letting his hands treat her better. His breath turned into something more ragged and she thought she could feel him smile against her neck, almost chuckling as he stroked a very evident erection up and down the divide of her ass.

He played with her own erection and licked her neck, and when she moaned, he pressed a finger into her mouth, invading her there, with perfectly paced, suggestive movements. Then he pushed into her; his penis found her asshole surprisingly easily, and as he gently made his way in, his sleekness was such that the entrance was gentle, slow and painless.

He moved away a bit to better fuck her, and in the same movement, he pulled her shoulders more against the bed, so she could see him. His smug smile, his loving eyes which were full of almost malicious care. Grinning, he kissed her across the thumb he was fucking her mouth with, and then removed it to allow his tongue to replace the invasion, stroking her cheek as he kissed her deep, wet and greedily.

Elem closed her eyes and moaned into the kiss, moving her hips in rhythm with his, returning the kiss just as hotly as he had delivered it, burying her right hand in his hair, while her left hand was on his wrist, feeling his arm move as he masturbated her.

Eventually, the softness of the moment turned into something more greedy – faster, harsher, dominant. He fucked her until he came inside of her, spilling outside and onto the bed.

 

With a full body jolt, Elem awoke as strongly as she would’ve awoken from a nightmare, and breathing just as fast, too. Then, she looked down along her own body, only barely covered by the blankets – she was still erected, sleek, and a bit of precum lingered there. With a surprised sigh, she leaned back into the bed and stared at the ceiling. What the fuck had she just dreamt about her own little brother?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	23. III - Holosuite and cookies

 

# Part III

##    
Turning Tables

  


* * *

## Holosuite and cookies

It was some three days after Reyal’s trial, and Iltarel was a little bit nervous when he picked Dayar for their date at the holosuite. The rod he’d taken with him, he’d picked from Glain’s box during his last visit – not that his friend would have objected to his favorite program being borrowed; Iltarel was co-author after all.

Past the awkward greetings (mostly awkward on Iltarel’s behalf, as Dayar had a much fluider body language and attitude), the two young men made their way to one of Tarlak’s break centers – it held teahouses and restaurants mostly, an administrative service office or two for the locals, and a holosuite establishment for those who fancied a bit of entertainment or a more specific mood for a meeting or small conference, in the flesh or through distance.

The clerk handed the rod to the employee, both he and Dayar paid for the session, and they were led to the suite.

“I hope you are ready to be surprised and impressed,” Iltarel dared to be a little smug and cocky as they crossed the door.

They were welcomed by a beautiful, yet slightly uncanny landscape. There they stood, on a flat rock, in a pond of green grass bordered by barren earth, pitch black and shimmering, dotted with crimson fern and fossilized trees with leaves etched in some copper-like metal. More flat stones allowed to join the earthen ground – a safer path than attempting to walk on the wavy grass. Above them, the sky was a pale blue. There was no sun, but there were white clouds writhing over themselves. Everything was calm and serene, although it might just be the calm before the storm. There was something slightly disquieting about the scenery and the distant shapes of a ruined building – the cathedral of stairs.

“It’s more of a contemplative program,” the albino explained. “A story without characters, only the landscape and the paths you choose to follow.”

It was oniric, to say the least; a poetical landscape with little care for the laws of physics, was what it was.

As Dayar took them into a forest path of black earth flaked with gold, the editor noticed how his and Iltarel’s emotion altered their surroundings, blooming pink flowers on the obsidian trees, turning their metal leaves into iridescent rainbows, and changing the color of the sky altogether.

They climbed up the cathedral of stairs, crossed the bridge of contemplation, watched the flight of kayars and listened to their concerto of square sounds. The many black birds passed just above them, heading over the bridge and swirling around it. They croaked and clapped their beaks too, but in a way that turned about melodious.

“I’d actually never heard that one tune,” the albino blew in slight disbelief. “The program must have composed it on its own,” he realized, a little amazed with himself. Odd... that wasn’t something he thought he’d implemented in this version, which meant Glain must have added it since last time.

They could hear distant music echo from the other end of the bridge where the birds had disappeared, and this time, Iltarel was as clueless as Dayar as to what it was. Still, the albino was confident it couldn’t be anything dangerous, least the program wouldn’t have loaded at all.

“We used to have atmospheric music, but we opted to remove it,” he explained, “because it conflicted with the way the landscape behaves in connection to emotions. Music doesn’t allow for sudden shifts as easily – or at least it’s not very pleasant. We were going to add more sound effects instead, so this,” he pointed toward where the music came from, “isn’t supposed to be happening. But since the birds had complex sound effects…” he shrugged. “Are you afraid of a bit of music, Your Edar?” he nagged instead.

“Not at all, as far as I’m concerned, this puts us on equal footing,” he grinned, “you don’t know what’s going to happen, either. Which means you can’t judge me terribly for my choices.”

There was literally only one way to get down to this mystery, and soon they entered the broken tower at the end of the bridge. It had high windows but no roof. There was no rubble in the middle however, only a pristine floor with a mosaic of mirrors and two centimeters of water dancing above it. There were tables and chairs, as if it were the terrace of a teahouse, and some benches underneath what remained of the windows – the views on the forest, sea and mountain around were wonderful.

As they came in, the music died out and the couple easily spotted a man dressed in dark clothes, sat on one of the benches and looking out toward the sea, his back turned to them.

“Seat yourself, I’ll take your order in just a second,” he told them.

“So that’s what he did…” Iltarel shook his head and the architecture around them seemed to sear itself a little from his annoyance. “Computer, remove character ‘Enkem’ from the projection,” he required.

When the computer didn’t comply, the character turned to them, revealing his tanned face and amber eyes.

“I thought you knew better than to try that,” he told Iltarel. “You know I’m not that kind of hologram, don’t you?” He set his eyes on Dayar and came closer, curious. “And who would that be?” he flashed a smile. “You may call me Enkem,” he politely introduced himself.

“You created a  _ sentient hologram? _ ” Dayar realized, lacking the enthusiasm he would’ve normally felt at the prospect, “Don’t you know there are  _ laws _ for those kind of things? If anyone finds out we even interacted with one...” he swallowed and took a deep breath through the nose.

His anxiety caused gusts of cold wind to start hissing between the cracks of their tower get-away, and Iltarel’s blubbering of excuses did nothing to better the weather.

“Hey, hey, you two,” Enkem shook his hands to make himself more noticeable, “I know you’re both real and don’t really care what happens to this place but I live here currently and I’d rather you don’t wreck the place with negative emotions – I’ve had enough last time,” he groaned at the memory of Glain’s visit during which the young man had decided to leave for Bajor. “I wish someone had told me that I’m illegal,” he too accused Iltarel. “When I think both you and Glain studied law and you still made me?”

“I- I never agreed to making you sentient,” the clerk defended himself and looked at his companion.

“I  _ think  _ we should end the program and dispose of the rod, before this gets any more incriminating…” Dayar thought to share his opinion.

The sky turned darker as fear crept onto Iltarel, although the architecture turned pale, as if flashlights were cast on the stones – Enkem picked the dilemma instantly.

“I understand your concerns, young man,” he tried to be appeasing, “and I-”

“-No,” Iltarel interrupted him. “You’re a hologram, you have no deal being here, and if you don’t disappear at once, I guess I’ll have no choice but to do just what he said.”

“I see,” Enkem looked down. “Well, I’m programmed to care for you, for Glain, and those you care for as well, which, I guess, includes you,” he looked at Dayar. “Wouldn’t want to cause you problems, and especially not to Glain. If he asks where I’ve gone, you two tell him I did it for him, out of love,” he gave them both a serious look and took a step back and a deep breath. “Computer, remove essential tag on program Enkem-0172, override One Detaran Four Black.”

Iltarel stared at him with a flicker of doubt as the hologram neared a window.

“What are you meaning to do?” he interjected.

“Free him,” Enkem smiled. “I’m really sorry for the trouble; enjoy yourselves, sweetscales,” he winked and jumped.

The silence that followed was dizzying, but Iltarel broke it eventually, suggesting to end the program there, and apologized again:

“...I'm sorry. I really hoped I could dazzle you a little with all that programmation and all those things that came out of our imagination; I hoped to entertain you,” he reached for Dayar’s hand and took it in both his own. “I do have feelings for you, feelings I’ve been waiting to feel and express ever since I was a little child, naively dreaming to grow up and find the love of my life,” he closed his eyes so not to betray his bliss too much, although gold clearly sparkled on the stones around him, shimmering in the water and the many facets of the mosaic on the floor.

“Then I suggest we go and find a  _ real _ teahouse out there,” Dayar sighed and Iltarel nodded discreetly.

He was sheepish again, and something inside him was tormented – he’d seen the way the other looked at the window’s edge after Enkem vanished from it, and it couldn’t be unseen.

“Dayar, I…”  _ want you to know you changed my life _ , was what he’d wanted to say, but the words kept stuck in his throat, “I guess we should go then,” he said instead, weakly and embarrassedly.

He knew what he’d thought though: “ _ why do I have to fall for the suicidal one again? _ ” and he felt like he was bleeding inside, guilt pouring out from an old wound; the one Glain had caused when he’d sliced his wrist. When Iltarel had heard of it, he’d felt like he’d been stabbed, and now, fear was gnawing back at him. He hushed it though, promising himself to do everything it took to keep Dayar away from the temptation.

##  * * *

They hadn’t picked any teahouse of the borough, instead walking through the arched streets of Tarlak and passing several buildings of minor administrations before they found an artistic tea garden. Neither of them had ever been there, and the experience was tempting; it did look nice and cozy, with angular furniture aligned with adamant precision to form a pixelated yet organic layout. It was at the same time tidy, orderly and serene.

Cubic pedestals dotted the place, hosting sculptures on their surface. The artist currently displayed was one Mirun Ulis, and her works were rough volcanic stones, black and porous, turned into miniature gardens with miniature dwellings amidst the green.

 

While looking at the menu, excited surprise made it to Iltarel’s face as he realized the place served a drink he hadn’t had for  _ over fifteen years _ , and so he ordered it at once.  _ Sweet fishmilk with kulek spice, salt lukor beads and sugar-hair topping _ .

“And black kanar extra topping,” he required, clearing his throat and deepening his voice a bit in case the waiter or Dayar might think that was too much of a childish drink. On the upside, if the transgender youth had any complex, anything he would order now would clearly appear manlier than Iltarel’s choice.

“I’ll... try the same, then,” Dayar answered with a contemplative smile, looking between the waiter and Iltarel.

He’d never had that particular one himself, and figured he might as well experience that which enthused Jarad so deeply. The waiter nodded and went away, leaving the young men at that.

“It’s… something I really enjoyed  as a child,” the albino said, almost as an excuse. “I had it for the first time when we learned my mother was pregnant again – Pitir,” he specified. “We went in a very nice teahouse of Paldar to celebrate the news; it was a very beautiful day, sunny and cloudy at the same time, warm, pleasant,” he remembered. “I was already quite good at counting and I’d quickly figured that my little sibling might get born around my fourth birthday to come, so I looked forward to it with great excitement,” his smile trembled as he failed to repress it. “I know I shouldn’t have favorites, but Pitir always was my dearest one,” he confessed.

“You are blessed to have so many siblings,” Dayar said softly.

“Uh, my parents were… thoughtful to carry out their, ah… duty,” Iltarel started to blush, clearly not approving entirely of what his embarrassing number of siblings suggested of his parents’ sex life. “Well, my father did come from a somewhat militaristic family,” he excused his old man before getting onto answering the  _ actual _ question – the waiter brought their drinks in the meantime, and Iltarel was glad to see the black Kanar in a little glass pot separate to their creamy-russet fishsmilks.

“-But Pitir is my little sun,” he picked up again and smiled more positively. “He’s the most adorable thing Cardassia ever produced; he’s small and so full of goodness he’s become plump and rounded,” he described him with sheer love and suggested they could drop by the Masad bakery on the way home to see him.

“You should introduce me to your family someday,” Dayar smiled, trying to figure how to drink his serving without messing up the complex topping, “But I guess it’d be better not to tell of what’s between us, for your sake, as I’m…” he needed not finish that sentence.

“It… would certainly be nicer for the both of us,” Iltarel admitted, finally pouring a little bit of Kanar in his glass, but not blending it with the rest to avoid turning his drink grey.  “I don’t care what my father thinks of me, and you’ll always be a man to me, Dayar,” he resolved to say, and took a deeper breath. “It’s funny. I tried, I really tried to be ...proper. But it seems like everybody was right. Nall, Keelani, Glain… and you too,” he almost accused, as if it was Dayar’s fault that he… that… “I… I had to think of what you said before,” he looked sidewise in embarrassment. “ _ About Glain, _ ” he muttered, then dared to face him again. “It  _ pains _ me, but you were  _ right _ . Not that it changes anything!”

“I knew it,” Dayar confirmed without surprise, although he’d hoped that it wouldn’t be the case, that he’d be able to keep Iltarel Jarad for himself, and not to share him romantically with anyone. “You must be intensely loyal to him, for you to try and set him up with me, despite your feelings for him. I would have imagined you’d be saddened, had he ended up with someone else, someone not you.”

“I’d be saddened if he threw away his career over me,” Iltarel answered in stark sincerity. “I guess we both know that in the end, he’ll enjoin a woman. There’s no place for disorderly feelings between us; he’s my friend and that’s all he’ll ever be,” he assured. “And as for you… I don’t intend on giving you up,” he lifted his drink, “I have feelings for you unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, Dayar, and you’re right, I am loyal. As such, I intend on being loyal to you.”

Dayar blushed a little and sipped some from his drink to better hide his state of being. Those were rather powerful words, and implied much more than simply courting.

“And I will be loyal to you,” he told in return as he placed down his glass. “Still, I’d hate to think you’d somehow be choosing between myself and your luzzur. I don’t want to be a wedge between you, I know people need friends...” people except himself, pretty much. He smiled a little and lifted the glass again, “To friends,” he toasted and drank.

“To friends ...and complicated relationships,” Iltarel echoed and drank, then set his glass back on the table, thinking. “I’m too loyal to give up on either of you. I’m confident Najal will assist Glain in finding a suitable wife – she’s a friend of ours with many ...female friends,” he cleared his voice. “A tough enough ordeal ...I guess you saw the trial,” he suggested.

Dayar nodded a bit at that, then frowned and stirred his drink.

“His Venerable Rokat truly is resourceful,” he commented on the story, as it was a discussion in itself, and a rather fascinating one at that, “that he’d go to such lengths to guard against Reyal’s rebuttal as to pretend his own bastard half-sister was his child,” he shook his head to himself. “I am not sure I’d be able to lie for that long about something like that.”

“He didn’t have to,” Iltarel muttered, then realized he’d said too much or not enough. “Don’t go repeating it, but he didn’t know. He sincerely thought Elem was his daughter, and the housekeeper knew all along that it might not be the case,” he revealed in a low voice. “Nall and her have grown fond each other since Liyara waned to a shadow, and after she was put out of her misery… well, they were considering to start courting each other more officially, probably get enjoined. But since that plot twist,” he shook his head. “With that trial, Nall lost an enemy, yes, but he also lost a daughter and a new wife. Threw Elem out, fired Keelani, and Glain is in the middle of all that, trying to keep the entire family from falling apart.”

Dayar sat still for a long moment, then he blinked in sudden realization.

“But that would mean both  _ Nall Rokat  _ and  _ Melekor Rokat _ ...” he paused, and lowered his voice, “with  _ the same alien! _ ” he cleared his throat, blushing a bit, “No that can’t be...  _ Melekor _ was married at that point, so it’d... it’d make sense if Nall Rokat covered up to save his father’s legacy, I-I don’t see how he couldn’t have known. Iltarel, you were fooled too – that’s just how good he is.”

“Dayar, you’re just as sweet as Nall, aren’t you?” Iltarel raised an eyebrow.

Still, Dayar refused to believe that Nall Rokat had ever had sex with  _ an alien _ , and prefered to simply discontinue the topic, sipping half of his remaining drink in one go. Then he leaned forward in his seat and reached out to brush Iltarel’s fingers with his own, as subtle as a secret kiss, and just as brief before he leaned back in his chair to look around them.

“I am sorry you didn’t get to dazzle me,” he sighed with regret as he looked back at his companion, “although, I am sure you’ll find other ways – this drink, for instance. I’d never had it before, but I understand why you appreciate it, it’s very sweet, and very happy. Much like how I feel for you, Your Jarad.”

“I- I- I…” he stuttered, “You- we…” Iltarel felt many sensations in the nerves of his chest, arms and neck, and had to take a deeper breath again, reaching for Dayar’s fingertips with his own and looking at him as if it was the only thing preventing from falling backwards from a cliff. He wanted to ask him if he was ready to make their relationship more official, but didn’t dare. “I wish to make you feel so always and more,” he blurted instead. “There’s something addictive about the way you make me feel, Your Edar.”

Dayar burst into a small chuckle and grinned so wide he had to lower his pretty face to hide it and appear more graceful.

“How do you feel about booking one of those other activities you spoke about, in a week’s time? Perhaps if I got to shoot at you a little, you’d be less addicted, and more indulgent? After all, I would hate to make you sick in withdrawal symptoms.”

“That’s fine with me, and no custom program this time – at least not the sort I haven’t proved entirely first,” the clerk grinned and got further down his glass. “I never had this with Kanar as a child of course, but I have to admit that was a brilliant idea for a topping,” he congratulated himself. “I’ll remember this drink like a new first time, and I’m so glad it has to do with you,” he smiled most fondly, committing the entire scene to memory. And how loving he felt. The touch of Dayar’s fingers, the words he told him. “Will you let me lead the way back to your place?” he asked as he finished his drink.

Dayar nodded and drank the last of his glass, rubbing at Iltarel’s fingers again. He felt so warm and smooth, or perhaps that was because he’d been holding the drink.

“You promised me we’d see your brother, first,” he reminded him with a small smile, “If I am to become close to you, I should know what your family is like.”

Iltarel only grinned brightly as an answer before they left the place. It was all too obvious that there was something between them, but such feelings were hard to hide, really.

##  * * *

The bakery was owned by one Imila Masad, a pleasant woman in her late sixties – Nall’s generation, and quite fond of the Conservator at that, even more so as the Rokats were regular clients thanks to the young Jarads. She was at the counter, reorganizing the few pastries left as the afternoon stretched toward noon, and flashed a warm smile at the boys.

“Iltarel, please come in, dear!” she welcomed him, then looked at the other. Usually, it would have been Glain Rokat – “And who’s that handsome young man…?” she eyed at Dayar like he was a delicious cake ready to be eaten – only half-an act, it was just enough to be playful.

“Edar. Dayar Edar, in full,” he gave the woman a court bow, then looked around at the interior, which was rather to his liking. The smell in there was quite delicious too, and he found that he might not mind a pastry himself; anything to eat would be eaten if offered to him. “I’ve never been here before. Tidy establishment you’ve got here, I like it.”

“Thank you, I’ve always made it a point to make it nice and homely,” the woman took the praise with pleasure. “So, let me guess, you’re here to see Pitir but you’re also buying,” she figured easily. “Just a second,” she moved to the door behind her and called after Iltarel’s brother, mentioning he had visitors.

She was answered to by a happy giggle and a nasal sound, and soon, the young man appeared. He was the same age as Glain but looked younger, more alike to an overgrown child, round-faced with small eyes full with life, and flour splashed over his face. He immediately identified the unknown character and went around the counter to greet him.

“I’m Pitir Jarad,” he said, punctuating the sentence with another nasal sound of happiness and knocked his flour-layered knuckles together a little.

Dayar hadn’t expected him to look so different – after all, he didn’t know what Lukan’s syndrome was – but got his wits about him quickly enough to answer the greetings rather than stare at the upside-down chufa.

“Dayar Edar, I’m Iltarel’s...” he glanced at the albino, “friend, I guess,” he smiled a bit and shook his head. “He’s talked a lot about you.”

Pitir made another joyful sound at that and Iltarel reached to land a kiss on his forehead.

“You told him I like to bake?” the younger one asked his elder.

“I did, and we decided to buy some. What would you suggest?”

“Hum, hum,” Pitir winced as he thought, “I have bukara cakes that are very delicious but also stuffing if you want to have a sweet dinner,” he pointed at the two left on display – compact, spongy, with a thick coating of glossy black sugar; “but if you want something lighter, I have muka, nurube and voka pastries,” he gestured at the various sorts of dough swirls. “I would personally recommend subi biscuits, because the filling is creamy, sweet and very nice, with Kanar in it,” he grinned. “I have blue, black and gold – very pretty together,” he showed the biscuits alike to capsules. “I’m not allowed to have them too often!” he added with mismatching cheeky enthusiasm.

Dayar nodded in appreciation to the list.

“It’s been ages since I had a good voka pastry,” he couldn’t really remember the exact occasion, but suspected it might have been for Damar’s birthday celebration at work – Freyar was usually the driving force behind celebrations; the fact that he got to eat the leftovers certainly  _ were _ a motivating factor. “I think I’ll settle for a voka pastry and a line of gold subi biscuits, thank you,” he smiled a bit sheepishly. “What do you offer to drink along with it? And what would  _ you _ like, Iltarel?”

Pitir gave the question a thought while Iltarel quickly decided for the same order and asked for an extra line of black subi biscuits – “A treat for your uncle,” he whispered to Dayar.

Then Pitir ended up recommending dorak tea or dorak-spiced fishmilk, and Her Masad smiled in approbation since it was a proper suggestion and likely to be found in people’s cupboards.

“...But you could always have it with more Ka-”

“-That was a very good advice in the beginning,” Her Masad cut off. “You can go back in the kitchen now, sweetscale,” she said with a smile.

The plump little Cardassian nodded with a nasal sound of approval and gave the others a big grin before removing himself giddily.

“Have a nice time eating! I’ll wash my hands!” he chimed as he left.

The woman looked him go and gave the others their order in a little box. They paid and left politely.

 

“So… that was Pitir,” Iltarel concluded, clearly embarrassed with his own happiness, visible on his entire face and body.

“He does seem very friendly,” Dayar thought to comment as they walked side by side at a slow, comfortable speed, “I couldn’t have guessed it’d be possible to be so different and still naïve, somehow – that’s not an insult,” he added very quickly, before emotions could sour Iltarel’s mind, “it’s just... I guess you’d know what it’s like, to not fit in entirely. Most people are nice to me, but there’s always the rumors,” he chuckled a bit and shook his head to himself. “Say, you want to eat these at my place? I’d wager a guess and say my uncle has late meetings today, so if you want to give him that gift, we should probably head home sooner rather than later.”

“I think it would be most pleasant and interesting,” Iltarel looked at Dayar with bright eyes. Then he had to turn his face away to sneeze, once, and twice. “Petty sunlight!” he swore through his teeth before apologizing with a sheepish look.

“You’ve got a stray strand of hair, here,”Dayar noticed and, without thinking of it, reached out to brush it back behind his ear

“Sorry,” Iltarel felt the need to really excuse himself this time. “Glain likes to pretend  _ I’m _ the reason he always has a comb with himself,” he rolled his eyes but tried to keep them looking where it wasn’t too bright. “I’m sensitive to light,” he explained. “I’ve always been, but my medication made it worse, although it also gives me a break when I’m full of chemicals. When I start sneezing or light becomes unpleasant, it usually means I’m getting due for another hypo,” he patted his bag.

“Pale and doesn’t handle light well...” Dayar cooed with an amusement that  _ could _ be perceived as offensive, “I think you were born to be a cave dweller,” he jested and chuckled, or at least, until he imagined Iltarel naked in a hot cave, spread out casually on a comfortable slab of stone. Then, he turned a darker color himself, and had to clear his throat several times to get rid of the roughness building in it, which prompted Iltarel’s curiosity about what just occurred to his mind.

“Only what I said,” Dayar answered, feeling even hotter, especially around the scales, “but,” he lowered his voice a bit shamefully, “with significantly less clothes. I’m sorry,” he added as if he’d just committed a crime, “I don’t know why that happened, I’m not a... I’m not indecent.” Not normally, anyway.

“Oh,” Iltarel blushed a bit too and diverted his eyes, thinking about it too, and thinking about the fact that the image had been in Dayar’s imagination. “I don’t mind,” he realized with a bit of surprise. “If it’d been  _ anyone _ else,” he said, his tone clearly suggesting that, yes, it included Glain, “I  _ would _ have minded. But if it’s you, I only hope it was more pleasant than not. How do you manage that however?” he asked genuinely. “You’ve never seen me  _ like that _ , so how can you…? If my mind tries to do that, it just become some kind of abstract concept and I still don’t get to see anything – not that I do such things consciously,” he suddenly became more aware of how his words could be interpreted – “I meant more, like, in dreams – not that I usually have this kind of dreams either,” he stressed. “All I mean is that my mind hasn’t defiled your image like ...yours has-” he gulped, dark-scaled on the neck and looking away in embarrassment – and almost sneezed again.

“I-I don’t know,” Dayar wasn’t sure what this conversation even was, “I guess I just... sort of imagine what it might be like,” he made some hand movements, then had to still them, because he was still carrying his order, “It’s more of a concept, an idea, a symbolism of sorts. Not detailed, but still enough of an image, emotionally speaking I guess. Or... sensually,” he gathered and didn’t dare look at Iltarel. “You’re allowed to think of me if you want,” he reassured him, “but I guess you’re right in that you might have to see me naked first; I’m not exactly... normal.”

“I’m not exactly normal either,” Iltarel said with a dose of amusement that surprised himself. “Oh, well,  _ maybe _ you’ll find out someday… So, does your uncle like sweets?” he changed the topic as they neared the transport station.

They didn’t have a long ride to get to get to Dayar’s place, but they may as well talk of something more civilized like pastries, drinks and such mostly-harmless topics.

 

They didn’t have time to go very far in the conversation however, as, once in the shuttle, a woman about their age caught sight of the albino and got up from her seat at once to greet him and Dayar too, since he seemed to be with him.

“Iltarel! It’s been a while!” she smiled at him.

“Barely a few weeks, I believe,” the young man corrected.

“Always the same,” she rolled his eyes. “Is this one of your acquaintances?” she eyed at Dayar as to say ‘ _ Aren’t you going to introduce us to each other so I can know if I can talk a bit more about what I have on my mind or really shouldn’t?’ _

Iltarel cleared his throat a little: “This is Najal Keral,” he gestured at her, caring to inform Dayar first, “ _ the matchmaking Najal I mentioned before _ ; she’s a financial secretary in Barvonok, now, I believe? She used to work in Tarlak with Glain, for the military archives related to Bajor,” he explained. “She’s one of Glain’s best friends, actually.”

“I clearly am his best friend among females,” she puffed herself a little, although the act was mostly humorous. Iltarel smiled at that, and she instantly noticed his apparent happiness. “And so…” she eyed at Dayar again.

“His Dayar Edar,” Iltarel introduced him politely, in a way that would have been quite formal if he hadn’t discretely set a hand in the small of his date’s back (not that the young man was too conscious of what he just did). “His Edar works at the Bureau of Alien Affairs and has a most brilliant understanding of many alien languages and cultures, although his talents are far from being limited to this,” he told almost smugly.

“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Edar,” Najal smiled at him brightly. “I take it you must know Glain too?”

“We have met,” he commented on the topic of Glain, smiling a bit more than he’d meant to, as Iltarel’s contact made him giddy, “he’s very efficient,” he thought he’d say something nice and neutral, instead of the not-so-nice, not-so-neutral things that were on his mind.

“He  _ is _ ,” Najal agreed, “I don’t know how much time he spent learning programmation, but I owe him some algorithms that really made my work easier,” she admitted without shame. Then she got a little more serious and looked at Iltarel instead. “Have you seen him since the trial? Tell me the truth, is he doing as good as he tells me? We’ve been messaging each other – I can’t believe he went to  _ Bajor _ ,” she glared disapprovingly. “He could have died. And now that. And his mother. He  _ can’t _ be doing well, can he?”

“Oh, well, I couldn’t know what goes on in the head of Glain Rokat,” Iltarel kept evasive, “but if he tells you he’s doing fine, that probably means he doesn’t want to worry about you worrying about him.”

“I know,” she scolded him a bit. “That’s why I’m asking you. See, I’m supposed to see him in a few days for some blind dates with some nice girls I know, see if there’s a chance for chemistry to happen. I’d rather know in advance what’s really going on to avoid an awkward situation – from what he’s admitted to me, his meeting with those two women his father tried to set him up with were a  _ complete disaster _ …” she whispered.

“Then maybe you should go see  _ him _ and see for yourself,” Iltarel maintained, his hand in Dayar’s back grabbing him and his clothes some more. “I believe he’s still living with Keelani, unless he’s moved in with Maten – I made it clear I wouldn’t have him over anytime soon.”

“Ha,” she pointed. “Well, then, I’ll drop by and pay him a visit.” She eyed at them both. “Honestly, you are full of surprises, Iltarel. I never thought I’d see the day…” she sighed and set her eyes back on Dayar. “I know that might come off as intrusive, but please, Your Edar, I believe you’re a very lucky man, so be nice to him,” she smiled softly.

Dayar smiled pleasantly at that.

“I shall endeavour to do so,” he simply answered, then he cleared his throat and continued: “I wonder what it’s like, Bajor. Or any of the Federation worlds, I guess. Cardassia has many beautiful worlds, but none of them are so filled with aliens, and while I know nothing can be learned from them, I still hold a certain... fascination.”

Najal glanced at Iltarel as he said that and couldn’t help to burst in a giggle.

“Iltarel’s a fine match for you then! He’s the closest to an alien I’ve ever met myself – just joking of course,” she gave him a fond look. “He  _ likes _ to be special,” she whispered to Dayar as if it were good gossip. “If you really want to see aliens, you should ask him to take you on a trip to -where was it again?” she asked the albino, “That colony where you said you saw that charming scientist woman who was studying the alien workers? Doesn’t she owe you a favor? Sometimes I feel like half of Cardassia owes you a favor,” she muttered.

“That was Surad Irat, and I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Iltarel gave her a hard stare, holding himself closer to Edar, hand shifting to his hip.

“I guess you would know that better than I do,” Najal shrugged. “Have you met the new Rokat then?” she asked the both of them. “Elem Rokat. She’s half… something, right? And she’s been all around the Federation from what I’ve heard,” she kept on with the alien topic, then interrupted herself as she was about to keep on saying something else – “Oh, that’s my station coming, better get ready,” she moved and stabbed Iltarel’s belly with two fingers; “And you,” she leaned forth to whisper, “ _ remove that hand before someone else sees it! _ ” she advised him.

“My…?” he repeated in disbelief, only then realizing the position he was in and resuming to a more orderly position. She nodded in approval.

“Better. I’d hate to see the pure, virginal embodiment of Cardassian formality get a report,” she grinned at him. “Then, Your Jarad, I’ll be leaving. It was very nice meeting you, Your Edar.”

“And a good continuation to you,” he wished her with a court bow, already missing the warmth of Iltarel’s hand where he’d been holding him.

 

Once the transport got moving again, it was emptier than before. They could sit in a row for two and Dayar sighed with more relaxation.

“Very outspoken, that one,” he commented without judgement, “I guess she’s going to go gossip to His Rokat about us.”

“That’s to be expected…” Iltarel nodded, a little unsure as to how that would come off to Glain.

Somehow, Dayar found a bit of smug amusement in this, as if that sure would end any potential delusion Glain might still hold about getting in his pants.

It was a strange position to be in for Iltarel however, being in the middle between two persons he loved but whom shared mismatched feelings of their own, and he wished it could have been more simple, more comfortable too. Or maybe less comfortable: that he cared more about Dayar than Glain was something entirely new to him, and a bit of guilt tingled inside, although he did his best to ignore it.

It took him a moment to realize he’d lost himself in the contemplation of his… -could he call Dayar his boyfriend? Was it too early? When was one allowed to call the other his own like this? A kiss was what would seal the start of the relationship, right? And surely that was the reason Iltarel so yearned for such a contact, as much as he dreaded it. Would he do good? Would it feel different than it had when Glain… He interrupted his thoughts, blushing a little and diverted his eyes in case his desires might have been a bit too present there. Soon, they’d be out of the shuttle, and fresh air surely would do good to freshen a mind gone a bit steamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	24. III - A word for lovers

#  A word for lovers

Plumes of feathery clouds had crossed the sky and were dimming the sunlight. Once the transport reached Dayar’s station and the young men went out, a shy but decisive wind tore a little at their clothes and hair, although it was nothing offensive. Still, it was nice to reach the stairs and get up to an area where the gusts of air got less strong.

There, Dayar didn’t take too long to open the door so the both of them could get inside and into the dark, warm embrace of the flat he shared with his uncle. Demeny, it seemed, was indoors somewhere, as at least his voice was present somewhere at the end of the corridor, humming a delightful melody to himself, apparently oblivious to the fact that his nephew had come home.

They found the man bent over the table, rubbing it with some kind of oil to refresh the shine of the surface. His smile, too, shined a bit once he looked up and got a better idea of who was there.

“Your Jarad! What a pleasant surprise,” he commented with delight as he straightened up and started folding the white cloth he’d been holding, “I ah... you’re staying for dinner?” he asked with a certain uncertainty; “I made mocha rolls, they are settling in the fridge, since I, ah, have a meeting later today,” he smiled a bit more and then took the bottle of oil and started screwing the cap on.

“We’re just going to share some pastries... I guess it’s up to His Jarad if he wants to stay longer, but I suppose his family might be expecting him,” Dayar pointed out as he turned to his visitor, “It’s your call.”

“They stopped expecting anything from me years ago,” Iltarel answered with a repressed smug grin, “but I don’t wish to intrude; that would be impolite,” he said with a hand on his heart and a discreet shoulder bow.

The scent of the oil was pleasant and he smiled at Demeny, stepping further inside when Dayar came to put the box of pastries on the table and went to look for some of the tea Pitir had mentioned.

“Please, tell me, Your Edar,” the albino spoke to Demeny in a soft and polite voice, “am I welcome in your home? You have invited me before, but the motives were ...what they were then,” he chose to phrase it in a neutral way. “Today I dated your nephew, and I intend to keep on doing so if you’ll allow it, which I hope you will,” he told honestly.

Demeny scrutinized Iltarel for a while, before gesticulating to a chair and taking a seat himself.

“Sit,” he simply instructed him, shuffling the bottle aside and clasping his fingers together under his chin, leaning forward so he could size up the albino with penetrating eyes. “You are welcome as long as my nephew agrees that you are welcome,” he informed him in a rather removed voice, “Beware, however, that it is Dayar’s father who will have the last say in his romantic affairs. Kantar is head of family, not I, however unfortunate that might be for my nephew,” he glanced toward the kitchen, where Dayar was busy brewing the tea. “My brother is not the easiest person to get along with, he’s very conventional; if you think charming  _ Dayar _ is a challenge...” he sighed. “My nephew likes you, and that is all that matters to me. I want him happy, and I can clearly see he’s happy together with you. I wish I didn’t have to caution you.”

“And your brother has credentials in matters of acquaintances, I believe,” Iltarel nodded to that – he’d looked him up of course. “But Dayar is the one who requires my attention-”

He quit the topic as Dayar returned with cups and a teapot of infusing dorak, and let Demeny open the box to discover the two squiggly crescent pastries glazed with sugar and spices, and the rounded little biscuits lined up in three inner compartments.

“I thought you may appreciate those,” Iltarel gestured at the line of black subi.

“Ah,” said Demeny as Dayar poured him a cup of tea, “ah,” he repeated at the invitation to have some biscuits. Then, he took one and regarded it with thoughtful silence. Dayar looked between his uncle and Iltarel before clearing his throat.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled as he went into the kitchen again, to get plates for the pastries. Meanwhile, Demeny had taken a bite into the biscuit, discovering to his delight that it was actually quite good.

“I never had one this color before,” he mentioned with fascination, “they only carry red and blue at the establishment I frequent, and those aren’t very good,” he hummed a bit. “You must’ve gotten these from a rather classy bakery?”

“The Masad bakery in Paldar, just four stops away from here on line four,” Iltarel answered almost smugly. “My little brother is the artist there, and  _ his _ blue subis are worth the try, although I prefer the gold and black ones,” he picked one of the golds he’d bought for himself.

It did have the strong, regal taste of gold Kanar, rich in sweetness and spice, yet  _ fresh _ like blue could be. His sight turned a little dizzy and he had to wonder for a second if the alcohol was more dosed than usual, but when his hand spasmed, he quickly figured that it was getting to be more than time for another injection. He quickly finished his biscuit and excused himself to the bathroom, fishing his hypospray from his bag as he went.

When he returned, so had Dayar, and Iltarel couldn’t help but smile at him. He was handsome, wasn’t he? Too  _ bad _ for Glain: this one wasn’t for him.

Demeny had finished his biscuit a little bit quicker towards the end, clapping his hands together and getting up as soon as Iltarel returned, excusing himself for having to attend his meeting, and left rather hastily, before any protest could be launched.

“My uncle is very busy with his job,” Dayar explained, even though he knew quite well that Demeny wasn’t going to a job meeting, “He told me to thank you for the biscuits while you were gone. And to be careful, whatever that meant,” he shrugged a bit and took his uncle’s abandoned cup to sip the tea he’d left there.

“He’s not going to a meeting,” Iltarel sat and gave Dayar a meaningful glance of ‘ _ don’t lie to me, boy _ ’ but quickly crooked into an amused smile. “I’ve been around Glain  _ long enough _ to spot those things,” he held his cup and took a sip, “and long enough not to mind those things either,” he said more reassuringly.

Then he shivered at the thought that they were having tea together in Edar’s home. Did that count as enough to call Dayar his boyfriend? He wanted to  _ ask _ but he still didn’t dare.

Meanwhile, Dayar made a face at the resurfacing of Glain’s name, and hid his distaste in the tea.

“It’s  _ not _ the same,” he thought to phrase himself, using a relatively neutral voice. Or at least, he tried to. “My uncle is infertile, it’s the only way for him to get some sort of intimacy,” he paused a bit and looked down into his tea. “I think Uncle has given up on finding love; he comforts himself where he can find it – he’s come to terms with the fact that my father would never approve of him enjoining anyone into our family.”

It was pretty clear that Dayar hadn’t come to the same degree of acceptance – it was the idea that his uncle would grow old alone that grated at him.

“May I ask if you have any fondness for your father?” Iltarel inquired a little bluntly. “Your uncle must respect him a lot…” he said with doubt.

Dayar opened his mouth, but closed it promptly.

“I was going to say that I have as much fondness for him as he does for me, but that would be a lie,” he looked at the empty spot where Demeny had been seated. “The fact that I live here and not on Soukara should say something about our relationship. As far as my father is concerned, Dayar Edar doesn’t exist. So I guess you could say that I’m in fact more fond of him than he is of me – he  _ is _ my father. He  _ does _ exist. I do not deny his existence,” Dayar twirled the tea-cup and shrugged. “And as for Demeny, he and my father aren’t on the best of terms either, but they have their own reasons – Demeny’s career, for instance. My father felt compelled to follow the career path of his father, while Demeny, being the younger brother, never had that same pressure – so Kantar ended up living on Soukara as a chef, while Demeny surfs on the waves of progress in the heart of Cardassia, by far surpassing his brother in regards to social status. Family issues come in many shades and shapes,” he disregarded it all with a sigh. “It’s never straightforward. But, you asked, do I hold fondness for my father? I guess the truthful answer would be that I hold all the fondness for my father that he has for Nila, and for the same reasons, too. They are both concepts made up to suit our deepest emotional desires.”

“I see,” Iltarel nodded. He had to wonder if Demeny wasn’t too nice of a person after all. Others would have gotten rid of the bitter brother. “I try to be a good Cardassian and respect family values, but I’d sooner obey my uncle, even if Teval is the younger one,” he admitted sincerely.

Dayar’s lips flickered in a bit of nervosity at the concept, which was familiar to him only through his writing.

“I don’t even want to talk to my father, even less look him up to try and find something incriminating,” he confessed and served himself his pastry. “Besides, if I were to get rid of him in this way, I’d never get his approval, I’ll never have a chance at hearing him call me his son. Just like that. And I want that. I want him to admit that he was wrong, that he did wrong to me.”

Iltarel served himself too and afforded the time of a bite to think of it.

“Why?” he finally asked. “Is the approval of a man who abandoned his own child more important than that of the uncle and friends who embrace you?” he said with much softness.

Dayar sent Iltarel a long look of disbelief.

“I never said that,” he pointed out as he cut and forked up some of the pastry, caring not to spill out the filling, “and I don’t want to compare people’s affections to one another: one doesn’t have to exclude the other. It’s not  _ more _ important, but it’s still important. He’s my father, Iltarel. He rejected me, and he’s the only one who can take me back. What he thinks of me, of my feats, is important to me, because... because I want that validation. I want him to come here, look at me, and tell me,  _ Dayar, you are my son and I love you _ – I don’t even want him to apologize for anything he’s done. I just want... to exist in his eyes. To go home,” he swallowed and looked at the fork, which he then put in his mouth to become silent.

“I sincerely hope it happens, then,” Iltarel softened into something more bittersweet. “I love you, Dayar. I love you as the male you are, and I want to see you happy and fulfilled,” he reached over the table for his hand.

“And I love you, Iltarel Jarad,” Dayar took his hand and held it decidedly, neck blushing and heartbeat rising.

“So, what does that make of us?  _ Sinukimars _ ? Tahkisamars?” –  _ boyfriends _ ? Lovers? he suggested – “What’s the appropriate terminology?” the albino had to look down in shame.

Dayar blushed even more.

“Shamars,” he suggested instead, “you are my shamar,” he squeezed Iltarel’s hand even more, smiling softly at him, blinking gently.

Iltarel had to put down his fork to hide his mouth as he felt that his  level of blushing and smiling was getting to be inappropriate. He radiated with gladness still.

“Shamar,” he called the other, “you make me complete. But if you’re the man already, I suppose you make me a woman,” he had to joke to break the nervosity with a giggling laughter. He felt stupid of course.

Dayar didn’t laugh at that, instead looking at Iltarel with more serious.

“Is that what you want?” he finally asked, not disregarding it so easily; Iltarel might have made a joke, but jokes like those could come from somewhere not so straightforward, “To be a woman?”

The clerk looked at Dayar and thought of what Elem had suggested before, but looked down again, letting go of the hand to let them both resume eating.

“I don’t think I would make a pretty nor credible woman anymore,” he answered. “I don’t really feel like one or the other, but I’ve been notated as male and did my best to live as one. It’s only that… if I’d been assigned as female, my father would have allowed me to go on with scientific studies. But because I have functional male reproductive organs, I was assigned as male and made to be this useless citizen I am. What I do for a living, anyone else could do it. What I’m good for, nobody benefits from it. And that is most disappointing…” he sighed bitterly. “If only males were allowed to give birth like females do, and if females were allowed to impregnate like males do… I’d turn myself into a woman for you, Dayar,” he said sincerely. “My gender doesn’t matter so much to me if you can be happy. But the law is adamant and I don’t see anyone caring to change it…”

“I still have faith you will get where you want to be, given enough time – and you do have time: your career will continue even when mine will be forced to a halt. If we ever were to... to enjoin and have children,” Dayar thought of it, and wondered what those children would be like, and if he’d be any good at parenting… “But it’s that you’re comfortable that is the most important to me. If you’d like, you could take a day with me, in private, and take on the role as woman. See if it’s any nice for you, if you like it. And then you can let me be a man, and I can let you be a woman, behind locked doors. And all will be well in the end, won’t it?”

Iltarel shifted a bit, wondering what was up with everybody around him as of late.

“I- I don’t know,” he said uneasily. “Your proposition is most kind, but if you should really know, I…  _ Elem Rokat _ ,” he drawled the name, “She suggested something quite similar. To put a dress on me so I could… explore. I believe she’s the one to blame for… and then I am quite certain Glain got a warning from the Obsidian Order for doing that,” his voice thinned. “It was so very disorderly, what was he even thinking? And Elem- and Dain! And  _ Keelani _ ,” he massaged his temples, severely blushed and trying not to let arousal show. “Or… do you like  _ men  _ in  _ dresses _ ?” he asked with hesitation.

“That is very disorderly of you to ask,” Dayar pointed out, rather blushed himself, not to mention shocked, “I hadn’t thought of putting you in a dress, just exercising gender roles together,” he added in an attempt to save himself from the no-doubt shaming thoughts Iltarel had had about him in this instant. “I wouldn’t even put a dress on myself,  _ even _ if I’ll have to turn into a woman. It won’t happen. Ever,” he swallowed and took a deep, strangled breath, frowning a bit in sudden realization: “What does  _ His Dain  _ have to do with it?”

Iltarel cleared his throat a bit, biting his lips a little. “Nothing, I hope… He’s just, ah. He became very acquainted with the Rokats, because of Elem,” he slipped. “It’s very unfortunate for him that he had to see  _ that _ , but then, he seemed more interested in the dress itself. He’s a skilled hobbyist tailor as it appears.”

Dayar stared at Iltarel, becoming a bit pale and wide-eyed instead of dark and shocked.

“You wore a dress in front of  _ Dain?! _ ” he asked in badly masked terror. “Don’t you know half his family consists of interrogators – why would you do this?”

“What!? No! Never!” the albino paled too. “It wasn’t me, it was…  _ not me _ ,” he opted to spare Glain just a little, although he certainly didn’t deserve it. “It was an… artistic performance. It would have been very good if not for that. Dear Cardassia, what a way to represent her,” he shook his head. “I get the symbolism of course – this blending of genders to represent the wholeness of our people when a strictly male or female actor would have been offensive to half of the population, but it was… Our society isn’t ready for such things, however… beautiful and daringly captivating they may be…” he looked down and seeked refuge in the silence of eating.

Represent who? Symbolism of what?

“ _ Dain _ wore a dress? In front of you? And the Rokats as well?” Dayar guessed with great difficulty – and awkwardly so, once he figured that Dain might not look so bad wearing one. That in itself was quite too much, “You seem like you liked it, anyway,” he pointed out, “I hope it won’t disappoint you that I’m not going to wear one.”

Iltarel blinked, refusing to let his brain go onto imagining what the show would have been like with Dain instead of Glain.

“ _ No _ ,” he had to correct, “It wasn’t His Dain, it was  _ Glain _ ,” he finally explained. “You know the song ‘ _ Kardasi Makty Vahitep _ ’ from the musical? He… he sung that song to ah, celebrate his decision to follow his father’s tracks. I  _ guess _ he must have done it as a way to end his disorderly years with style. A last indulgence. The very last one, I hope, for his sake… I thought Nall was going to  _ die _ . But Dain seemed to like it very much for a reason I can’t fathom.”

“Maybe he likes men in dresses?” Dayar suggested with a chuckle, trying to imagine Glain in a dress, “just like you,” he added with a rather teasing smile, “because  _ you _ liked seeing Glain in a dress very much, didn’t you?”

Iltarel’s body responded at that way too much to allow any room for denial. Blood pulsed at his neck and his breath turned more raspy in a matter of seconds.

“I… never want to see this ever again,” he answered with difficulty. “Why would anyone want to see this, really!? It was… like cosmos wrought tight around him, sultry black lips and… He painted his chufa black too, with a sparkling gem in the dark,” he gulped.

“Very daring,” appreciated Dayar, much to his own dismay; it wasn’t as if he wanted to appreciate anything about Glain at this time. He wondered if there was a chance Glain still pursued him, if this was somehow supposed to reach him, like this, told by Iltarel who was so aroused by now that it could be considered a safety hazard. So that Dayar would get jealous, or upset. Too bad that Glain didn’t really know him.

“I can see why you’re so fond of him: he’s a little shit,” he judged simply as he finished his pastry and got up from his chair to take his plate and empty cup to the kitchen.

“He  _ is _ ,” Iltarel had to admit as he finished his own plate before following the other.

He tried his best to cool down. The smaller space in the otherwise well-arranged and well-equipped tidy kitchen made for a more intimate setting already, and the young man tried not to look too much at the other, embarrassed as he was.

“He’ll always be my luzzur, but  _ you _ are the one I call shamar,” he finally chose to say as he set fond-but-still-luscious purple eyes on Dayar.

“‘Would have been different if you’d been sorted as female,” Dayar mused as he sat the plates in the sonic cleaner and pressed a couple of buttons to start the rinsing, “but then, he really isn’t into females, is he?” he paused in contemplation, looking at Iltarel with a new sort of riddled look. “Is he attracted by you?” That Iltarel was interested in Glain was obvious, but Dayar hadn’t yet conceived that maybe that attraction went two-ways.

The clerk backed against the sink, hesitating before nodding. He couldn’t lie to his shamar more than he could lie to his luzzur.

“He very much is,” he admitted. “He made advances to me, but never past…  _ a kiss _ ,” he whispered the word in a shy voice. “He tried the water but always respected my will not to indulge. It must be… difficult for him to see the only two living persons he has such feelings for become close while he is cast aside, but maybe that’s for the best?” he looked at Dayar, vulnerable in uncertainty. “He promised his father to take a wife… and that will be hard enough a task, I suppose. He… it’s as you say, he really isn’t into females. He really can’t get aroused by them.”

Dayar looked at Iltarel, the disordered mess he was, and shook his head a little.

“I think this topic is not for us to discuss. In the end, we shouldn’t deny ourselves what’s between us, just because Glain might feel wounded,” he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “If you love him, and he loves you, that’s fine... but he has no such feelings for me. He thinks I’m attractive, and convenient. It’s a calculated move on his part to try and get together with me – he wants me. And maybe I’d be a praised trophy, but that’s also all I’d be, and it doesn’t matter how highly praised you are, when you’re just an object in the end. I want to be more, shamar,” he opened his eyes again, “I want to be with someone who sees me as a person, who appreciates my capabilities, who desires me, who I am, not just the fact that I happen to be a man with a uterus.”

Iltarel agreed with a firmer nod.

“You’re right, you’re absolutely right,” he agreed but had to consider his own motives. “Are you not… betrayed, then? That this organ be the reason I allowed myself to pursue with you feelings I would never have pursued for Glain? I need to know that I’m not hurting you in my pursuit, shamar. I love you…”

Dayar didn’t answer at once – it took him too long to take in and make sense of what Iltarel had just said, and throughout it all, his eyes thinned with contemplations; a frown that didn’t disappear even as he smiled.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted in a voice that he’d meant to be warm and casual, but came out hollow and stiff.

He wasn’t sure what was worse – truly being a second best choice, or the fact that Iltarel pursued him not for who he was, but because of what he was. Surely that couldn’t be. Surely Iltarel had just messed up the way he’d phrased himself – that was something that could happen to most anyone.

“I thought you pursued me because of our mutual interests and maybe because you found my writing skills to be something attractive.”

“I do,” Iltarel answered, wondering how that could be put in doubt. “You were… argumentative on those topics,” he recalled with tender embarrassment, “argumentative and sharp,” he smiled at him. “That’s what drew me into you, and I never want to get out, ever,” he said with more warmth underlying his voice. “You are the first who seduced me in such a way that I couldn’t deny the feelings inside of me.”

“Because I have a uterus?” Dayar asked rhetorically with a slight waver to his voice, then he groaned and resisted the urge to pull his fingers through his hair, instead tilting his head back and closing his eyes in frustration – half of him wanted to beg that they’d forget they’d had this entire conversation, while the other half wanted nothing but to repeat and analyze what had just been said.

“No, I,” Iltarel blurbed back on automatic, “I don’t know…” he admitted, then frowned. “It’s complicated. Love is complicated, and all this… stigma about who we can love or not, based on gender, when our bodies don’t even necessarily align… It’s confusing,” he tried to explain. “I’ve only just recently come to consider that I might be attracted to males,” he confessed a little sadly.

He felt somewhat pathetic.

“I had never actually considered that Nall and Keelani thought I had undue feelings for Glain and it came off as a blow. I’ve always tried so hard to be a… normal man,” the words felt dry in his mouth, “but I probably never had a chance to be that. I’m an albino and I’m intersexed. Maybe my body never was meant to be attracted to only one type of body? I wouldn’t know, and leaving behind all those years of delusion brings so much confusion,” he looked at Dayar with eyes made brighter by emotions. “I’m so sorry to be like this, so ignorant of what I am when you seem to know yourself so much better. I may be a bit lost, but I’ve found you, and for all I don’t know about my attractions, I know I love you for the wonderful person you are inside. I don’t mind what your body is like under your clothes, because it’s yours and as such it’s perfect. You’re perfect, Dayar. You’re a man and I love you. If you’d been a woman, or something ‘in between’ like Elem says, I would have loved you all the same because it’d still be you,” he promised.

Dayar shielded himself with a smile, turning his head sidewise to look at Iltarel over the length of his shoulder. He wasn’t sure where to begin, and this wasn’t what he’d wanted their day to end like – a hurtful debate in Demeny’s kitchen.

“So you’re saying that you’re unconcerned with what kind of body I have, as long as there are fertile female organs there to make sure it’s all orderly for you to go on and pursue me? So that you may enjoin me, wait for me to turn into a woman and impregnate me as soon as the opportunity presents itself? Well, it’s nice for you that it doesn’t matter to you what my body is like, but it matters to  _ me _ ,” Dayar swallowed and tried to get less tense.

It wasn’t possible.

“You are so rigid, you know that, don’t you?” he accused further, “That’s why I liked you from the very beginning: your stark, rude, blunt but honest judgement. You may not have been correct about everything you said, but it was refreshing in its straightforward nature. So be honest with me now,” he cleared his throat and looked at Iltarel, “are you pursuing me because it’s convenient? Would you have chosen to make distance between us instead, had I not been like I am?”

Although his guts pressed him to interrupt the other all through his speech to deny his words, Iltarel’s mind still analyzed them. He even took a moment to think it some more before finally answering.

“I’ve told you. Ever since I was a child, my dream was one of romance. To find this one person I would fall for, utterly, through and through. The one person who would love me back. It never was about children, it was about love, Dayar,” he said sheepishly. “Of course I’ve thought of family and children, because that’s what’s  _ expected _ of us, but since I’m so talented at failing expectations, I guess I don’t mind failing that one too.” He moved closer, approaching slowly, “When I met you, I had no intention of being attracted, but it happened. I had no intention of falling in love, but it happened. And from then on, I’ve gone against everything I had clung to so far. I let it all go because I found that I don’t  _ care _ about what’s expected of us. I just want to be with you. I’d stay unenjoined for you if your father wouldn’t approve of me, I’d stay childless for you if you wouldn’t want children… So long as I can stay the one you call shamar, so long as I can love you and try to make you happy… You made me stop caring about anything but you. So, the answer is no. I don’t think I would have had it any other way than it is now,” he searched for his fingers and found them.

“Wouldn’t you rather pursue Glain?” Dayar asked, blinking a bit at the stinging sensation in his eyes. “You have known him longer, and you’re loyal to him – you said it yourself, you only kept from pursuing him because he lacks my organs. What if you’re making the wrong choice? I know you love him, and I want you to be happy, to make a free choice, not a choice based on bodily configurations.”

“You’re right that I’m loyal to him,” Iltarel nodded, “but because I love him, I  _ cannot _ do this to him. He’ll never be allowed to be a Conservator if I do, and he promised his father to conform and take a wife… The only thing I could do for him would be to step out and let him pursue you, but then I must be selfish, because I want you too. I want you, Dayar,” he looked at him, realizing how close they were now. “You’re my wonderful polyglotte writer, my first true desire, my shamar…”

And the space disappeared.

Dayar wasn’t sure when he’d been so bold as to close the distance between them, only that he’d done so. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, like the flutter of birds wings, and the touch of his lips against Iltarel’s was just as light as flight.

With his eyelids shutting out all light, he stole the words directly from Iltarel’s lips, bringing about a rather comforting silence after all the disturbing things those lips had let across.

It made him sluggish, hot and hasty at the same time. With breath like smoke off of a fire, he wrapped his arms around Iltarel’s waist to hold onto him, to cling to him, to grab at the muscles and skin beneath, to feel him, how he was alive. How he too was breathing, and the resonance from his beating heart echoing through his flesh like a drum of blood, echoing through Iltarel’s body too.

After so many years of restrain, it was dizzying for the albino to finally be allowed to indulge truly in those sensations and instincts. He could feel a burning warmth in his chest, outlined by electric currents all around the ribcage. The kisses, soft at first, turned all the more daring as lips parted for something deeper. There, Iltarel had to restrain himself from invading the other like a violent barbarian. This leash was a tease and his unbound hands were going places in Dayar’s back, holding and grabbing where it wasn’t too indecent. It was sweet how he was so clearly inexperienced yet doing good in his own hunger. Still, he had to tear himself from the kiss when he felt a movement in his pants. Taking a breath, he straightened up enough to look at his darling.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely and had to clear his throat, “I don’t mean to unnerve you, it’s… hard to,” he gulped, “hold back, when you’re so… delicious,” he kissed him again, although more chastely so.

He knew far too well what his hips wanted but he held himself back from moving. There was no need to be slutty when they could simply be tender and take their time. Delaying sex would only make it better, Iltarel knew; he’d read it in romance books, many times.

Dayar shook his head a little, laying one hand against Iltarel’s cheek – he was so dark by now, his scales were taking a purplish tint, and it was rather endearing. He made the distance between them, only to lean his forehead against his.

“I know exactly how you feel. Perhaps you should go sit by the table while I put the dishes away? I’ll rejoin you as soon as I’m done,” he suggested.

“You’re right… I’ll do just that,” Iltarel agreed and resisted the urge to steal one last kiss before tearing himself apart and returning to the other room (he was horrified when he passed by a mirror and saw himself, so improper, but he just tried to calm down while waiting for his shamar to return).

That had been intense, and Dayar was quite relieved it hadn’t gone further, or he’d have been forced to find some sort of excuse to go to his room alone so he could change into a new pair of underwear. Even so, he suspected he still might carry the scent, even if discreetly so – he never knew if people could smell those things as well as he could, and it always made him a bit nervous.

Nervosity aside, he got himself calm with some breathing exercises as he put the plates away and straightened his clothes (not that they needed to be straightened, really) before he reappeared in the dining room.

“I suppose we should finish the last of the tea – it’d be a sin to let it go to waste,” he commented as he sat down and refilled his uncle’s cup with some still lukewarm liquid. “Your brother sure has talent,” he murmured with a gesture to the nearly empty box, where some subi biscuits still laid in wait.

“I think it’s inborn,” Iltarel agreed while pouring himself what tea was left. “When we were little already, I let him help me with simple things like making dough, and from then on he never stopped and… became the best of us at all that,” he smiled and bit in a biscuit. It was soft and crispy at the same time, and so creamy inside… How did Pitir even do that?

“I do a bit of baking, actually,” Dayar confessed after he’d taken a biscuit and tasted on it, “but it’s more of a hobby, I’m not  _ actually _ very good at it, even if Freyar eats practically anything I offer him,” he shook his head a bit to himself. “But it’s fun. I can understand why your brother would perfect his skills in this area; it’s one of the few crafts I’ve tried where you aren’t angry half of the time.”

Iltarel gave him bit of a look.

“You haven’t seen me cook, then, and it’s probably better you never do. In fact, no one should enter a kitchen in which I try to cook anything, unless they want to have a laugh or a towel soaked in rasa berry juice thrown at their face – yes, it’s been known to happen and I’m quite sure Glain would tell a vivid story about it if you ever feel like embarrassing him,” he laughed a bit viciously.

Dayar smiled and leaned his head on one of his hands, looking at Iltarel like he was a hopeless case.

“The two of you have had so much fun together, haven’t you?” he sighed a bit, “I almost feel like I’m intruding in an already perfect social assemblage. What role could I have in your life, that he hasn’t already served? I mean, there is always a reason why one loves one’s luzzurs.”

The clerk smiled peacefully.

“Luzzurs are like siblings we get to pick. Yes, of course, there’s an alchemy between us, because we went to the same Institute, we practically grew up together, and if I were to lose him, it would feel like I’m losing all those years of life too,” he agreed. “Maybe I don’t speak of Pitir as much, but I speak of him a lot too. It’s just that I didn’t study with my brother, we didn’t go through the same path of career, nor did we have science projects together… It’s true I share something special with Glain, but what I share with you is just as special,” he said simply. “Give us time, Dayar, and you’ll understand just how much you matter to me already, even if what you hear is  _ Glain, Glain, Glain, Pitir, Pitir, Glain _ ,” he mocked himself. “I love you, shamar, and that counts for a lot. This spot, this very special spot in my heart and in my life, I saved it for you ever since I learned of love.”

Dayar smiled to himself and drank his tea in silence, nibbling the last of his biscuit without betraying too much of what he thought of all of this. Once he had nothing more to drink, he allowed himself to rest back in his chair with a content sigh.

“I do want children,” he told, sneaking his way back to a previous topic, “I always wanted them. I just never really wanted to be the one to carry them; it seems like such a… challenging condition. Who knows how well I’d manage… Probably not very well at all.”

It was good that Iltarel was done eating and drinking too, least he might have choked a little at the sudden revelation. He blinked a little, slight panic coming over as he tried to figure out what to say.

“I… I have some sort of uterus, but I’m not sure it’s functional, and I don’t have any functional ovaries – they had to be removed,” he said a bit dryly, as if he was excusing himself. “I’m sorry,” he actually apologized. “I’m actually not sure how well I’d go through such an ordeal either. I’ve seen my sisters go through it, all the cravings and hoarding disorders… It was a bit tough at times,” he pinched his lips. “But at least they were fine with their femalehood and very happy to do their duty-” he interrupted himself before speaking Glain’s name again, instead saying, “I’ve been warned that it will be a very hard time for you if you go through it, and that you’ll need a lot of support -moral, support,” he gestured.

Dayar shrugged a little and took the cup, fiddling with it a bit to destress himself.

“You used to have functional ovaries?” he finally asked, as to divert the topic from himself, and the fact that he’d never be a father, only a mother. “How come they removed them? I would’ve thought they would’ve favoured those organs rather than male ones, considering... statistics.”

“They weren’t very functional, and in fact they probably weren’t even mine,” Iltarel said. “In fact, that’s something I’ve never told to Glain,” he realized, “so I’ll tell you my  _ dark secret _ ,” he leaned forth for the confession: “When I was born, they barely showed on the scanner, so my parents were told there probably wasn’t any hope I’d ever develop femalehood despite more promising outer looks. Then I was identified at the age of Emergence, like anyone else, and the Notator found my ovaries had developed in size but were stuck as one and couldn’t be salvaged as functional organs. However, my testes were very fine although not right where they should have been. In the end, I was to wait until puberty to see how it all played out. And it played out in such a way that I ended up for a stay between life and death at the hospital – I’d been having strange headaches, heat puffs and dizziness for some months. I had tried to hide it of course; survival instinct and all that,” he glanced sidewise at his past foolishness, “but when I started having seizures, my parents had me investigated at once. My ovaries were the cause, so they were removed, and it was found that they were mostly a kyst in which something alien was growing,” he thinned his eyes. “It was an aberration, but when I woke up from the surgery, I learned that I should have had a twin, and that what was left of it was now dead. It was… weird. And, I guess, that’s the closest I’ll ever get to pregnancy,” he made an amused face.

“You must have looked so vulnerable,” Dayar mused absently as he imagined the tale Iltarel told him. “I’m glad you survived,” he leaned a bit forward and sought the other’s hand with his, “to think that you could’ve died...” he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Still, it’s a bit gross.”

“Well, that’s why I don’t go around telling people,” Iltarel made a sheepish face. “I’m an albino already, if  _ that  _ isn’t gross enough…”

Dayar opened his eyes in shock, then shrunk a bit to the shame and straightened up.

“It’s not how I – I don’t think you’re gross; you’re beautiful!” he claimed and then looked at the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just, ah, I’m not a doctor or anything, I don’t really like... those things.”

“I thought writers liked those weird things,” Iltarel teased subtly but without any malice. “Well, I’m pretty sure Tilayan would like to know about this, but I don’t think I’ll share that secret with her. At least, I don’t intend on letting anyone but you know of this anytime soon,” he smiled. “It’s not pretty, but it’s from the heart.”

“I might not have found the topic to be one to talk of at the table, but I am nothing but delighted that you would put your trust in me, Iltarel,” Dayar’s shoulders dropped a bit as he relaxed, “ _ especially _ since it gives me something that Glain doesn’t know.”

“I’m sorry most everything about what I have to offer seems to be so overall disastrous and unwelcome… Are you sure you want to be with me?” Iltarel winced a little. “Either you really love me, either you must have quite some pity for me. I… I really  _ hope _ you  _ don’t _ think you wouldn’t get anyone better, at least? Because you are just so fantastic and wonderful, Dayar, my shamar,” he brightened up, love flecking his eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s you I want. If that kiss was any indication...” he blushed and looked at the edge of the table, “besides, the fact that you’re disastrous is one of your allures. I wouldn’t have it any other way, shamar.”

“And I love your sincere honesty just as much,” Iltarel smiled brightly. “I’m certain of it now, we’re meant for one another.”

He’d always known he’d find the person, the one person for him to be with. It was only unfortunate that Demeny must be right; Dayar’s father likely wouldn’t approve of a lowly albino filing clerk as a mate for his child, but Iltarel didn’t want to think about it at that point. Surely, they’d find a way. He found still, that he now felt, for the first time, a regret in having left Conservator Naker’s side, now that he could have used the status. But regrets weren’t fuel to go anywhere positive, and so he discarded those too.

It was getting to be a bit late when the civil flirtatious discussion was interrupted by the chime of Iltarel’s PADD: Lukat told him dinner was about ready, and everybody was waiting for him.

“ _ I don’t care where you are, come home now _ ,” he ordered his younger sibling, “ _ There are important news. _ ”

Whether it was good or bad ones, he didn’t specify. And so Iltarel had to leave, but not without one last, chaste kiss on Dayar’s soft lips, with the both of them leaning forth to find delight in the tender pressure, fingertips gently caressing each other. A cute and innocent image of courteous Cardassian romance.

Once home, Iltarel learned of the news: Siyal had been promoted to work on a new communication relay. It was good that his little sister got to have all the engineering fun he couldn’t get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	25. III - Running on empty

#  Running on empty

Glain had spent his previous days at the Bureau of Alien Affairs working in Dain and Sayad’s office, an arrangement which he had found to be most beneficial and productive – he’d arranged both his and Sayad’s schedules to allow her to be there and perform her own tasks  _ while  _ he himself was either off duty or at the Ministry with his father. And getting to see Sokal Dain also allowed him to get fresh news from Elem.

“Aren’t you afraid Nall might be angry when he learns you’re taking that opportunity to enjoin like thieves? He’s still the head of the family,” Glain argued cautiously.

“I’m not afraid and I frankly don’t care either,” Sokal replied in sheer honesty. “He kicked her out with little respect to how she’ll be living her life, so, no, Glain. There are limits not to be crossed.”

“Of course, I don’t deny that; morally speaking I do not agree with what he’s done, but he’ll change his mind eventually. He just needs time, and when he’ll realize he missed the ceremony, missed the occasion to be there for his daughter-”

“-But she’s not-”

“-I know! But he saw her as that, and he will again,” the archivist maintained. “She’s my sister and I do not care what story our genes have to say.”

“So, will  _ you _ come to the ceremony, to be there for your sister?” Sokal smiled.

“Of course. I’d be offended if I don’t get to be invited, and someone’s got to bear the token. So, when is it?”

“In just two weeks,” the Notator sent the other the exact date and hour, “it’ll be just a few days after our visit to Crell Moset,” he shared excitedly. Glain chuckled in a more reserved manner than usual – than before he’d died his clothes in dark grey.

“Be careful, Elem thinks he’s  _ attractive _ ,” he warned. “Or at least that’s what she said when Timun and I asked why she wanted to meet him, suddenly.”

Then realized what name he’d mentioned. Dain had noted but had the courtesy not to react, instead going on about Moset and the enjoinment ceremony.

 

The upside to Glain’s work was that it allowed him to monitor absolutely anyone he wanted. Really, he knew Damar would be incensed if he knew how the young employee was abusing his function and the permissions he’d been granted in order to perform his massive task, but his guilt was about impossible to prove. It wasn’t like he could be reported for deciding to go have lunch on fourth floor with his own colleagues, even if Dayar would certainly find him to be creepy if he knew  _ his _ movements had been monitored to check he’d be present too.

Freyar brightened up at the sight of the archivist approaching with a mysterious box, probably because he found the discussion between Dayar and Damar to be very boring, and Glain smiled politely at the old man, acknowledging his presence as he went to gather some lunch – sem’hal balls with fresh raw fish laced around.

“I have to say one thing,” the archivist told Freyar as he went to sit with the others – Dayar silenced at the same time, leaving an awkward silence that the others feigned not to have noticed – “lunch here is  _ a lot _ better than at the Ministry of Justice. Here, it’s real food, fresh and nicely cooked. There, it’s  _ replicated _ . And there’s not even much of a broad variety of choices – for security,” he shrugged. “More interestingly,” he put the box he’d brought along on the table, “I brought dessert. I hope everybody will enjoy that,” he revealed a senket pie. The dough looked to have a nice sandy texture, dark grey with black specks from ground sem’hal seeds, and the orange berries laid in their apparel of egg and minty spices. “If you like it, I’ll make sure to bake another one for the afterwork party, as parting gift.”

Freyar knocked his knuckles together at the sight of the box. Then he looked the other over a bit more quickly.

“You’re really quitting, then?” he asked as to conclude that the rumor was indeed true.

“He is,” said Damar, who looked everything but enthused about it.

Freyar hummed a bit and then cut himself a slice out of the pie.

“Maybe the replicators aren’t the sharpest around the Ministry ground, but from what I’ve heard – and seen – the women are all the more pleasant, both to the mind and the flesh,” he chuckled a bit and elbowed Dayar in the side, since he was closest, “You should invite us to your new workplace. Let us have a look around, behind the scenes, see some women...”

“Now, now, Freyar, we don’t want to alienate him at his new workplace,” Damar grunted, but it was obvious that he was secretly quite amused by the suggestion – and what Freyar would end up looking like if he ever  _ did _ manage to get to such a prestigious place. “I have already laid in my word of recommendation, so you’ve got something out of your brief stay here. I don’t doubt that your skills will serve you well as Conservator – in fact, I could think of several ways I’d use the abilities myself,” he grinned momentarily, then leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “Tell us, what style do you intend to pursue?”

“Curious, are you?” Glain smiled politely at Damar, finishing his second sem’hall ball, “I’m afraid you won’t get to see me onscreen anytime soon, unless you really want to watch the justice channel, so I guess I can entertain your imagination instead. I haven’t decided to go for a style in particular, but I believe my skills will prove most useful indeed. Confronted with someone who knows  _ a lot _ about their life, I believe my clients will feel that it is in their best interest to be compliant and put up a good show,” he said simply. “I don’t think I’ll be as emotional as my father. I’m too young to be convincing at that.  _ Eloquence _ shall be the tool,” he waved a hand with slight mannerism, fully aware of his entire body language and most controlled in his professional appearance. Then he softened a bit. “I was sincere when I said I’d miss working here. In just a few weeks I have been faced with more entertaining ordeals than in several years at the Grand Central of military archives,” he told Damar. “I’m  _ extremely _ thankful for this opportunity – that hacked database was  _ especially _ thrilling. So, if you ever have some impossible issue coming up again one of these days, I probably would enjoy giving a hand again.”

“And I’ll certainly know where to find you,” Damar assumed and, hesitantly, served himself a slice of pie.

“Eloquence is good,” Freyar appreciated, “I’m really going to enjoy getting to tell Mika that I used to  _ work _ with a Conservator. She’ll be impressed,” he grinned like a child.

“Why don’t you bring her at the party then?” Glain glanced at Freyar, “Then she can  _ meet _ your colleague the Conservator. I’ll be bringing someone too – but she’s not for you-” he warned already, “-Najal, she’s a good friend of mine, and Ziana can’t wait to meet her; I’m sure they’ll get along very well,” he predicted.

Then he set his eyes on Dayar who had been last to serve himself and was only trying to appear as though he were eating, by stirring his slice of pie on his plate a bit.

“And you’ll be coming too, I hear?” Glain allowed himself to grin a little. “Did  _ he _ invite you yet?” he asked without dropping Iltarel’s name.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the first couple of words came out oddly rough, and Dayar had to clear his throat a little to get rid of the raspy feeling left behind. Then he glanced up at Glain, “I don’t really...”

“You should come,” decided Freyar, “lots of good food, fancy clothes, games – do you remember when Sonar retired? It really was amazing how she won the tournament, and she deserved it too. Brilliant woman. I hear she moved away from Cardassia Prime – to Sekert II or something...”

“Kilaras Four, actually,” Damar corrected him without bothering to look up from the cup of tea he’d just steamed his face with. “She’s got a garden there. She still sends me monthly photos – and I’d do the same for her, if I had something interesting to document,” he smiled wryly.

“She always had a good eye for you,” Freyar appreciated.

“Because she was infertile and couldn’t have children of her own,” Damar fended off the  insinuation with a not-entirely-pleasant smile.

Glain sighed at that. It was starting to feel strange how much one’s fertility or infertility mattered. He knew better than to voice any opinion on the topic however, instead eating as the two other talked. Dayar’s silence felt almost offensive, although Glain didn’t take it personally. He just wished it didn’t have to make him so uneasy.

“Magistrate,” he decided to address Damar, “Another of my friends will be coming. A very good friend,” he specified. “May I ask for your support, were certain persons to have ...offensive interest in his looks? He’s likely to attract a little attention considering he’s albino, and quite unfortunately allergic to makeup as well,” he explained.

“I do believe we’re all capable of courtesy,” Damar glanced at Freyar with a subtle saltiness, “but I shall nevertheless make sure to keep an eye on things.”

“Wait, Iltarel is coming?” Dayar had put his spoon down, “When is it?” he asked further, trying to remember the date of the day his shamar had been vaguely weird about last time they’d messaged each other.

“Next week,” Glain answered. “That day, yes,” he noted the other’s expression. “I hope you can dance, because  _ he  _ can,” he hinted but didn’t give anyone the time to react to that, instead interrupting himself, “Oh, and Dain told me he’s going to bring ah… his wife-to-be,” the young man shook his head. “I practically matched them together – a skill I learned from a shifty tailor on a space station,” he added mysteriously, humor gleaming in his eyes quite convincingly, although the feelings weren’t as genuine. “I believe you’ve met her?” he glanced at the others – Freyar did seem to remember and to still disapprove of the absence of roundness of her ass.

“She was at the trial, wasn’t she?” Damar recalled to himself with contemplatively pursed lips, “Not to offend you, but I’m still baffled by the concept that  _ Melekor Rokat _ , not only acted unfaithfully toward his wife, but also sired a half-alien bastard and never bothered to follow up on it,” he licked his lips, then added quickly, “but perhaps he would have, had he refrained from dying unexpectedly like he did.”

“Radiation poisoning, wasn’t it?” Freyar chimed in.

“No, that was Conservator Morak,” Damar snipped and took his cup of tea again, “and I’ll have you know that  _ he _ was  _ impeccable _ .”

“Oh, that’s right,” Freyar reckoned with a frown, “but then, what did he die from?”

“I would not expect gossips on Melekor Rokat’s death to be a very popular topic to his grandson, Freyar.”

“Wait, Dain is going to enjoin that woman?” Dayar realized after a long while of contemplation, “He  _ could  _ have mentioned that.”

“Yes, Dayar,” Glain observed again, oddly entertained – more than was socially acceptable, so he didn’t show his emotions – “and no, Dain wasn’t allowed to tell you because he’s a Notator and that falls under medical secrecy,” he said, then set his eyes on Freyar, “And my grandfather died from severe electrocution while trying to change the energy cell of a PADD –  _ I _ had offered to do it for him, but he didn’t want to encourage me into ‘girly’ activities and so he had to do it himself instead.” Typical of the men in that family, he thought but didn’t say. “He always wanted the best for us and for Cardassia, but I never could quite get along with him,” he shrugged. “Still, it’s not Elem’s fault that  _ he _ was unfaithful like that, so you’d better be nice to her. She’s a very bright and respectable person gifted with immense courage, devotion and brilliance in engineering,” he told. Then looked at Dayar again, brightening, “Actually, last time we were together, Iltarel mentioned you’re interested in making holonovels, and she did say she’d love to help if she can. She’s kind like that,” he smiled.

Dayar glared a bit at Glain.

“I didn’t mean that, I meant that he could’ve told me he was intending to enjoin her. He’s my friend, after all: friends are supposed to share those things,” he straightened up in his chair and then shuffled the plate of pie away: “This is undercooked, soggy and quite frankly, I can’t eat it.”

“Edar!” Damar bemoaned with a scandalized hand gesture.

“Don’t worry, I’ll eat it – I kind of like that it’s soggy,” Freyar wasn’t late to catch the opportunity, and the pie, as it was.

“He’s acting like I don’t know the vows of a Notator,” Dayar flailed at Glain as if he wasn’t there, defending himself to Damar, “but I  _ do _ ,” he added surly and glared at His young Rokat. “I have worked in the same building as them for as long as I’ve been in service to the State. I  _ believe _ that an insinuation that I’d be oblivious should be taken as a direct and intent offense.”

Damar shrugged a little. He couldn’t decide whether this was infantile or obscene, all he knew was that it was a grow ground for misunderstandings, especially with Edar’s hot temper these days.

Glain sighed.

“Make sure to leave at least a slice for me, Freyar,” he told the old man who was already eating Dayar’s, then got up to discard his empty lunch box. On his way back, he set a hand on the back of Dayar’s chair.

“May I have a word with you, Edar? Please, it won’t be long.”

In his seat, Dayar took a deep breath through his teeth and closed his eyes momentarily. So there they were.

“Look, if this is about your dead hologram...” he said calmly and slowly, “I’m sure Iltarel already apologized on the behalf of us, but really, Glain Rokat, you should not have left that data rod out in the open where anyone could take it and use it. And you should be grateful, really. It was all for the better, so if you’re going to be angry at me, know that I forgive you your emotional outburst.”

“What?” Damar surged with interest that by far superseded what he instantly realized was reasonable, and as a result he got up from his chair, “I’ve got work to do. So do you, Freyar,” he pointed at the other’s portable computer which was stood on a table further away, “I’d like those inventories done  _ today _ , and not a minute later.”

Glain just stared at the young man, blank and confused for a moment.

“Which program do you mean?” he asked, unsuspecting.

Dayar winced a bit; Iltarel hadn’t told him  _ at all _ , then.

He muttered to himself as he got up and put some distance between himself and Glain before gesturing to the corridor, through which he took the other to his office, which offered a relative privacy.

“I thought he would’ve told you,” he pointed out, rolling his eyes a bit as he turned around and leaned against his desk, doors closing behind Glain, “but then, I guess he thinks so highly of you that he might be afraid you’ll be too upset at him,” he took a deep breath. “It was the program with the  _ questionable _ hologram in it. And I don’t really want to talk any further about it, I’ve rarely been so embarrassed and... unsettled.”

Glain started to put one and one together, not yet drawing a final conclusion but slowing down in his body language.

“The… landscape tales program?” he asked to be sure and Dayar nodded. The archivist paled considerably, then gulped as he felt his eyes getting wet. “I… I’m sorry,” he muttered. “This wasn’t for anyone to see, I didn’t know Iltarel-” he interrupted himself to ask, “-What did you mean by dead? He was set as essential, this couldn’t…”

“Don’t ask me, it was  _ your _ program,” Dayar crossed his arms over his chest defensively – if anyone in the room was to bring up the hologram being sentient, it sure as the stars wouldn’t be him. “Iltarel told me the program was based on a former lover of yours. I understand that you’re upset, but really, what’s gone is gone, and that’s how it should be.”

Glain’s breath was cut short for a moment.

“Y- you…” he tried to say but couldn’t find his words as it was getting all too clear that he was on the verge of tears. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, looking and almost talking to the wall instead of Dayar: “What I wanted to say is that you shouldn’t be angry at Sokal Dain, because he had no intention of hiding from you that he was going to enjoin Elem; he didn’t even know he would when he brought her here,” he told and dared glance at the Soukaran, just a bit. “This man cares greatly about you for all I know, and if you do consider him a friend, then maybe you should talk to him. Working with him, he’s narrated endless tales of his attempts to have discussions with you that only resulted with him feeling like you probably think he’s creepy and a stalker – he does worry about you. He’s a kind man. And I think you should talk to him if you don’t feel too good about… what’s going on for you,” he gestured vaguely then took a step away, trying to hide his face by looking in another direction and shielding himself with a flat hand, “People care for you, Edar,” he said in a strangled voice and walked away.

Dayar took a deep breath and finally relaxed down in his chair, picking his personal PADD from the desk. Then, he groaned and leaned back, fingers moving feverously over the PADD as he typed a message for Iltarel;

“ _ I regret to inform you that Glain Rokat now both knows about the program you borrowed, and the demise of his custom-made hologram. I thought you had told him – now I had to be the one to do it, and he more or less started crying in  _ **_my_ ** _ office. You should probably try to contact him, to explain yourself and to comfort him. I think he needs it. _ ”

Then he twirled his chair around full circle, laid the PADD back on the table, and opened the file he’d been working on before lunch break – a real challenge of a translation job, considering the entire document was written in dialect.

 

However, Iltarel couldn’t contact Glain so easily as the first call he attempted was turned down as soon as the archivist got his hands on his PADD to silence the notification and set it to reject any further contact. He was sitting in the bathroom’s breakroom – the one with just a little bench to sit and a provision of handkerchiefs. He sat directly on the floor, lamentable as he was, and hid his face in a tissue, crying as silently as he could.

What was going on exactly?

He couldn’t have Iltarel, he couldn’t have Dayar, he couldn’t even have Enkem anymore for mental support. And the worst was that everything was his fault for having gone to Terok Nor, to Bajor… He didn’t feel angry at himself however. Just sad. He’d miscalculated everything and had made mistake after mistake. He’d managed to salvage his career, but his family laid in shambles…

Taking long, deep breaths, he considered the situation like a game of kotra. He’d been in such situations before and managed to win the game, didn’t he? He was a survivor, he could win this too. It was daring, reckless maybe, but having lost so much yet, he did gather that he had a lot more to win than to lose.

He crooked a smile, still well-aware of how broken he truly felt, but maybe delusion was what he needed to just go on at all. Fake it and make it.

When he came back to the office, Sokal did notice the change and tried to inquire gently, but Glain kindly told him to mind his own business. The Notator nodded understandingly and the day continued. After a few more hours of work, the archivist shift’s ended and he paid goodbye to his colleague, still asking him to greet Elem for him before leaving. He had to check that rod that Iltarel had borrowed. He needed to be sure, even if, in a way, he felt like it no longer mattered anymore.

Upon inspection, he found that, indeed, the program had been completely and utterly erased with no possibility to bring it back. He sat on his bed for a long while after that, contemplating. There were no back-ups, because of the great illegality – he wasn’t as stupid as to keep duplicates of incriminating material. All was left was the image, stored in a hidden rod, but it was just that, an image. Glain fell back and looked at the ceiling, still silent and empty.

Then, at last, he cared to look at the many encrypted messages Iltarel had sent him, in which he detailed just a little more what had happened and why Enkem had chosen to take his own life. Tears ran down the young man’s face but he ignored them, instead typing with softness “ _ I forgive you _ ,” and sending the message to his luzzur. How could he not? Iltarel was the one who was alive and real. He was the one who mattered.

##  * * *

Following the next days, Glain grew even more reserved in his attitude. Calm, mostly silent, observing rather than engaging, kept to himself although not entirely shut. He was very formal and polite, diligent, concise and clear in his answers, but not cold although there was a distance in his gaze. Those green eyes were a deep and long lagoon hiding away his emotions in an image of serenity.

His first client had been a butcher accused of bad treatment of her own children and sentenced to rehabilitation. While she’d regarded the punishment with contempt, she had been quite vehement over the notion that her husband would disassociate and keep the kids. So Glain suggested to her that  _ maybe _ , she should conceive the mercy of the State and be faithful to Cardassia more than she was to her husband. She was surprised as she realized he knew of her infidelities, and as she didn’t wish to make herself an enemy of those men’s wives, she complied to give a good show. He had her admit her adultery during the trial however, making her agree that it indeed made her into a poor mother. Fearful that he’d drop names, she put more emotion in her begging for mercy to the Archon who appreciated it greatly. Glain knew he’d scored a point with that one, but didn’t realize yet how charismatic he’d appeared, shielded in his very controlled stance.

His second client’s trial was due just two days after he’d learned of what had become of Enkem’s hologram, and that man was a lot less compliant due to personal spite. He was outraged to have the young Rokat for Conservator, considering that a social inbred deviant with no respect for the military had no place in court. Glain warned the Archon and let him bring those arguments forth to her.

“I believe, Your Kemek, that you are aware that those claims were proven to be squander  _ in court _ . By maintaining the lies furthered by Enker Reyal, you are defying the word of Archon Deyad and placing creed in falsehoods. Do you understand the danger lying in such tendencies, Your Kemek? To believe in that which is untrue and unproven calls for yet another sentence, a sentence I had to  _ plead _ Archon Mira’at not to add to your punishment…  _ yet _ . As such, I now invite you to embrace truth and confess it,” he gestured with calm confidence, cold fire burning below his unwavering mask of sly sympathy.

The man paled as he understood the threat, and behaved. Achon Mira’at too was pleased with Glain’s performance, and a gush of eagerness started to blow among those women of law. A number of them wanted to try him, and the young man was beyond surprised to learn his next apparition would be aired on the second channel for lunch time. That he’d be rewarded at such a time of his life, when everything else went so wrong, when his feelings agonized in a battlefield… it was all unexpected, and yet, it made sense.

“Mother, you were right again…” he murmured and got up with an isolinear rod in hand, and chimed at the door of his father’s office.

He was let in quickly and paid him a formal nod before heading for the replicator. He inserted the rod and quickly got his order replicated: a nice frame of tropical dark wood with a message etched in golden letters, which he showed to his father’s questioning eyes: “ _ Love your father, love me, love Cardassia, love your friends, your future wife, your children – love them all. But never expect love from them, because if you do, you have missed the point. _ ”

“You were right too,” he told his father. “I will keep on loving those I love no matter what; family, friends, and all those I haven’t met yet. I will love them all, freely and generously,” he said quietly.

Instead of instantly answering, Nall gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

“Mirjal, if you could be as kind as to give us some privacy,” he asked of his assistant, who looked up from her desk, nodded and left the room without a word. “We have to talk,” he said as a premonition, readjusting his seat a bit and leaning forward, elbows on the table and his fingertips leaned together, “about your approach to the profession. Do you know who you remind me of?”

Diligently, Glain sat himself, quickly trying to find an answer.

“I don’t suppose I remind you of Conservator Remor,” he said evasively, because his father would have been looking more joyful if Glain’s namesake was the person he had in mind.

Nall gave Glain a wry smile.

“I was thinking of Conservator Rokat, actually,” he told him as he straightened up a bit, “Melekor Rokat, to be precise. Your grandfather,” he thought to be overly obvious, “And before you  _ pride _ yourself on closing my father’s vest around your chest, I should bring your attention to these,” he reached under his desk, withdrew a PADD, and then shuffled it across the board to his son. “His wife kept strict records of his trials, enemies made, conflicts he’d have to handle... I think you’ll see the pattern for yourself, and clearly enough so to understand that such an act comes at a hefty price. One I was hoping this family name wouldn’t have to deal with again so soon...” he softened a bit.

He’d tried, and he’d failed, and Melekor would laugh at him if he could – in fact, Elem’s existence was in a sense very much a personification of that laughter.

“Alright, I can’t do anything right,” Glain looked at the information with a dull distance, speaking his conclusion with a soft voice that contrasted starkly with his words. “What do you suggest I should do then?” he looked up his father, green laguna still beautiful but empty. “I’m not going to cry. I don’t think I can anymore,” he warned gently. He hadn’t managed to cry since his tears in the breakroom.

“Good, because crying isn’t going to be of any help to you,” Nall answered and shuffled the PADD a bit closer to the child. He was left with the distinct feeling that Glain wasn’t entirely understanding the sincerity of it all. “Before you go on a full scale pity party for yourself, I’d like you to remember your uncle, my brother, Zetik. It shouldn’t be too difficult: he was about your age when he died.” Now that was something that would’ve made  _ Nall _ cry on a normal day, and he did feel a certain pressure in the back of his nose, but for the sake of the conversation, he let none of it show: “And then I’d like you to think of your aunt, my sister, Meridine. I know that as far as you’re aware, both their deaths have been branded as accidents – but I’d urge you to consider their deaths in the context and time that they took place. Look at their father’s cases at the time, look at the names of the people involved in their accidents. Tural Sadrik,” he pointed to a name of the PADD, “daughter of Kilayan Sadrik. Line of work: transporter technician. She was the one who performed the transport that subsequently eradicated Zetik from existence,” he leaned back in his chair and clouded himself in mental smoke, so not to get too upset. “The investigation was thorough, nothing could be proved. But I  _ know _ . My father certainly knew,” he drew a deep breath. “And Meridine. Her husband tried to keep it from us, but we all knew she suffered from post-natal depression – most people don’t know what that is, because it’s such a shameful and un-Cardassian state of mind. It means that instead of bonding with your children like a mother should, you fall deep into depression and can’t connect to them at all – two thirds of cases when infants have been killed, it has been by mothers suffering from this condition. The Gevram family was well-connected and knowledgeable, however, and she got the best psychiatric care Cardassia had to offer. Yet, she ended up committing suicide. The name of her doctor at the time? Lezeur Derin. Nephew of Kendral Denal, who my father tried and found guilty of a  _ lesser  _ crime – food fraud. It wasn’t in what the man was guilty of, it’s not like Reyal’s case, it’s in how my father obtained the confession. We all suspected he always knew more of his clients than everyone else, including them. And that, Glain Rokat, is a dangerous thing. I do not doubt I have escaped the clutches of death without even realizing at more than one occasion, because my choice to follow his career path ultimately protected me by extension. But do you see what I see? Or do you think these are mere coincidences? Think  _ carefully _ before you answer.”

Glain kept silent for a while, letting his reptilian brain draw all the lines and patterns with an ease that should have frightened him, were he less lethargic inside.

“Coincidences exist but they are not to be trusted,” he finally replied. “You know how I am, father. You’ve always known. So tell me, how do I stop being what I am? How shall I work this thin line without falling?” he caressed the PADD he was still holding before putting it back on the desk, respectfully. “If I fail, it will be Reyal’s victory. He is the reason my first court experience had such disastrous consequences on me and I do not intend to let him win, even in death,” he laid back in his seat, looking at the man in front of him. His father. “How shall I do?”

Nall surprised himself in that he didn’t really feel any frustration toward his son, nor toward himself.

“I can’t change you with a handful of words, my scalechild,” cooed the Conservator as he finally offered a softer smile, “you should take your mother’s word, and fill yourself with love – but somehow, I am left with the impression that you do not know what love is, not the way she did, not the way I hoped to teach you... I wanted to turn you into someone soft and intuitive; why else would I have bought you so many pets? Indulged you in the development of your nurturing instincts? And yet, here we are – you turned out just like my father. And I must resign to the fact that quite possibly, it is in his blood, and that I might have nothing to thank but my mother’s heart for the difference, if temporary, that I brought to this family,” he sighed and turned into a more tired display.

It hurt more than he’d expected, because now more than ever did he need his child to be  _ his _ child, not the child of his father – not  _ again _ . Yet here he was, with his only son acting like, ah, like Melekor.

“If my father was alive, I am sure he would’ve had far more useful things to tell you than I. I do not have any experience working like you do; I have only lived to see the death it caused my family, powerless as justice  _ failed _ to prove its worth. And I have lived a lifetime to compensate for this, fought a lifetime to... to make amends to things that are forever broken and shall stay so no matter what I do. And so from this perspective and these experiences, the  _ only _ advice I can give you, would be that if you seek to torment your clients, make sure you work only with those who are condemned to death, who cannot tell their families what black secrets you’ve dug out of the graves of their past. The State can only protect you  _ so _ far. You may have the blessings of your title, but they are worthless to have if you do not have the wits to keep your kindred safe.”

Glain nodded slowly, then got up and came around the desk to take a closer look at his father. He touched his face and looked into those brown eyes that felt so full of warmth when Glain felt so cold and empty inside. His expression was serene, but sadness transpired as something within him begged to say he was sorry. Still silent, he sat on his father’s lap and seeked refuge in his arms, sighing instead of crying.

“It’s been a lot, lately…” he murmured weakly.

Still left with the impression that Glain wasn’t really listening to him, Nall resigned to simply hold him and leaned his chin against the hair on his head.

“And it’s  _ nothing _ compared to where you’ll go, if you keep on following the path you’ve chosen,” he told as if that was a comfort.

He almost wished he hadn’t encouraged Glain to take up the family occupation. At least, he’d been relatively safe as an archivist. A nobody, too insignificant to target in any way, shape or form. “Your scales are so soft, still,” he said, but he didn’t mean the physical scales, but rather those of experience and maturity, two things that Glain sorely missed and would learn the consequences of soon enough.

“I know,” the boy mumbled, “but I’ll have to grow them thicker on the go, now.”

He contemplated his life a bit, especially the late events. He hadn’t gone and grown thicker skin since he met Elem: he’d gone broken. In that instant, he almost told his father of the dream he had during the night, but held himself back in time. Nall didn’t need to know of it.

Glain had dreamed he was on a ship he had to take through the DMZ to go home, but nothing functioned. As he tried to fix things, he found out the warp core had been ejected, and desperately tried to figure how to get it back. He tried to find Iltarel, but his friend was nowhere to be found. Instead, he found Tilayand and Kilem, but they didn’t understand why he was even worrying. As he heard Dain’s voice, he followed it and found Iltarel, Dayar and Elem laughing together in a cozy, warmly lit room, basking, entwined together and behaving with a level of intimacy that was about indecent – more like Glain used to behave with his close friends, although the young man didn’t realize. He yelled at them that he needed help, but they laughed even more:  _ Elem _ had already fixed the warp core and everything in the ship was functioning perfectly. Nobody needed Glain and he’d awoken writhing in torment and feeling like he’d been crying in his sleep.

“I won’t let you down,” he kissed his father on the cheek. “I will try to be as loving as I can. In fact, I’ve asked Sulek to host me,” he said and got up. “He’s having issues to communicate with Lia; I thought I could help maybe.”

“I’d rather you lived with me,” Nall protested instantly, clinging to his son’s hand looking at him in a way that begged him not to abandon him, “ _ I _ am your father, I should be the one to look after you, especially now...”

Glain shook his head.

“You have your own way to walk at home. I need you to look after me  _ here _ as you promised, not there. And if there’s someone who’s learned not to make an enemy of anyone, it’s Sulek. He’s not loved, but nobody hates him. He’s mediocre, but that’s not a bad thing… There’s something to learn from that.”

Something colder rose in Nall’s eyes, and he let go of Glain’s hand, silently collecting his PADD and putting it away. What had he done to deserve this treatment? Why, for all the kindness he’d showered his son in, did he end up less respected than his own father ever had?

“Then you will go and stay with him, and you will not be welcome back in my house,” he decided with frost lacing his voice. “If you do not want to be my son, then you won’t be, either. You can leave now,” he indicated the door without even looking at Glain, because if he did, he’d surely start crying, and that would ruin his imitation of his own father.

“I told it before, I’m Nall Rokat’s son, and if he asks for me, I’ll come, always,” Glain repeated although he headed towards the door with his frame. He stopped in his tracks to add, “I hope you’ll be Nall Rokat again soon. And I hope I can find myself in the meanwhile so we can be together again,” he hugged the frame. Then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	26. III - Going out with style

#  Going out with style

Iltarel had made sure to done a nice outfit to be representative without standing out too much. The colors weren’t too different from his usual getups, as he found that shades of steel blue and storm grey fit him best, but the cut was refined with a delicate high collar split in V that made the neck seem taller and slender, all while hiding most of the scales.

He’d come to the Bureau a little in advance to help setting up the conference room and check on Glain, quickly. His friend seemed extremely respectable in attitude, which was an almost worrying contrast to what Iltarel was used to. His luzzur smiled at him, although his eyes still bore some sort of sadness, and hugged him longly. The clerk let him do, arms folded back around him. Then Glain stepped back and seemed more alive.

“Dayar’s on eigth floor,” he said.

“I know,” Iltarel smiled a little. “You look very professional,” he tried to compliment and Glain seemed almost amused.

Holding back a sigh, Iltarel went up in the building to join his shamar’s office. He cared to chime and to be invited in before entering, hands clasped in his back and a smile on his lips.

“Your Edar,” he greeted him politely.

Dayar had to be honest with himself: he hadn’t been entirely sure Iltarel would really turn up. The awkward silence that had settled between them since the incident with Glain’s breakdown over his dead hologram had left its doubts in the linguist, and so he hadn’t been sure what to expect.

A tinge of surprise still lingered in his eyes as he turned around to look at the other – he was handsome and his choice of clothes  _ impeccable _ , as Damar would’ve said.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he admitted and got up from his chair, feeling dull and ordinary in comparison, since he wore his work clothes like usual. “I actually hadn’t planned to go, considering you’d be there, and I... we...” he gesticulated a little and let his hand fell to his side. “You look exquisite,” he said instead, feeling lost on the spot.

Some ‘ _ ow _ ’ kind of frown riddled Iltarel’s forehead as he listened to those sore words.

“Your Edar…” he said and came closer, setting his hands on those delicate shoulders, “I was looking  _ forward _ to being with you tonight,” he almost scolded him a little. “But I shall be sorry for the silence. I’m not as good a writer as you are,” he explained tentatively. “I prefer being face to face, but it was a little difficult to come knocking at your door while touring the planet.” He looked at him, his face, those amazing rainbow eyes, the shape of his ridges… “I’m so glad to be back, you have no idea…” he dared to caress Dayar’s jaw.

The young editor held his breath for the duration of the touch, but held himself back. If he kissed him now, he wasn’t sure it’d stop at just kisses, and even if it did, he was sure he’d leave his shamar in a darkened state that couldn’t be explained in so many other ways.

“I thought you were busy comforting Rokat,” he explained slowly, keeping his focus on his words while finding himself more and more drawn to the other’s lips – the shape of them, was simply entrancing – “I thought... I thought perhaps something had broken between the two of you. And that you wouldn’t forgive me; he is your luzzur, you have known him for so long, I didn’t want to damage that, so… so I respected your choice. The choice I thought you made.”

Their lips were almost touching as Iltarel too loomed toward temptation. The albino smiled, lips slightly parted and brushing against Dayar’s.

“You are the only choice I’ve ever made,” he reassured him and allowed them to kiss because the closeness was getting to be too erotic in itself. As the kiss too was turning somewhat sultry with desires they couldn’t indulge in, he had to end it and straighten up, trying to keep his blush in control.

“I dare hope Glain didn’t give you grief either,” he said with hope the topic could shower a bit of cold on them both. “At least, when I saw him just earlier, he seemed very… formal. It’s strange. I’ve always wished he’d get there, and now that he has, he’s almost like a different person. He looks older than his age… but maybe that’s just his new occupation,” he conceded.

Dayar smirked and leaned forward, daring to lay his arms around Iltarel’s waist as he leaned to his ear.

“You know, your blush isn’t getting any less obvious when you keep on thinking about him  _ like that _ ,” he told him out of consideration. Then he leaned backwards with a shrug, “Of course, you’re not wrong. He is really rather elegant in his new style; the only question is whether he’s the one carrying the clothes, or if his garments are the ones to put a leash on him. One is masterful and speaks of great skill, the other not so much.”

“I’m afraid it might be both,” Iltarel pinched his lips. “He’s a brilliant young man – if not, he would have fallen out of the Institute at the end of the second cycle, but despite all he went through with that suicide attempt, he held on. I must admit I’m a bit worried for him still. I think he’s on a bad slope. He’s hiding even from me,” he admitted. He didn’t dare to voice his further concerns. They were too worrying and Dayar didn’t need to be burdened with them. “Can I ask you to be nice to him at least tonight?” he asked sheepishly, trying to make his request sound small and innocent although real worry showed through his expression.

Dayar’s smile vanished the moment that question came up. In an instant, he put distance between himself and Iltarel.

“Have I given you any reason to believe I wouldn’t be nice to him?” he asked defensively. “It’s  _ his _ party. There’s a  _ reason _ I had decided not to go – whatever the two of you need to do to keep him healthy, I didn’t want to be there as a distraction and a source of drama. I don’t want to hurt him, or you,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “You didn’t  _ tell him _ his hologram committed suicide, did you?”

“I thought I’d explain when he’d find out and ask me what I thought might have happened,” Iltarel sighed and clasped his hands in his back again. “I should have told you. That was my mistake,” he reckoned. “I’m sorry that put you in such trouble.” He should feel sorry for Glain too, and in a way, he was, but there was something different about the way he felt for Dayar. “I was worried when he didn’t answer my messages of explanation; I was worried that he didn’t give me a chance to comfort him,” he said, “but the one I need to be forgiven by is you. I’m so sorry, Dayar… I should have known you’d be sweet and apologize on your own.”

Dayar’s cheeks blushed for a moment, but then he shook his head.

“I’m not sure I was very sweet about it. I thought he was angry about it,” he told in honesty, “but then it turned out that he wanted to talk about something else, and I made a fool of myself. I thought you’d talked with him already; you’re such good friends I could’ve never imagined you’d keep anything from him. I mean, you’re not a very good liar to begin with, and to hide that you saw something like that happen, it’s... it’s such a big act.”

“I’m… better at denial, obviously,” Iltarel admitted. “I’m sorry,” he said again, arms flopping by his sides. “I promise, next time we break one of Glain’s things, I’ll make sure we make our story straight first. For this time, I hope you forgive me still…?”

Dayar sighed and came closer again, folding his arms around Iltarel.

“Both you and your luzzur are dangers to yourselves, what with how  _ poorly _ you keep your classified material under control,” he confessed his thoughts as he leaned his forehead against Iltarel’s. “For all  _ your _ sloppiness in letting Rokat get his hands on the work  _ I _ granted you insight into, I still love you, Iltarel Jarad. Your luzzur, however, that was a more dangerous act of neglect, and if he doesn’t already consider what danger he put both you and myself in, someone should remind him, so that he might feel sufficiently guilty to forgive himself, in time.”

“You’re right,” Iltarel agreed. “I’m afraid he’s losing the will to care for himself, and that’s always dangerous in a man, for those around. I’ll make sure to remind him of his obligations if he’s losing perspective,” he sighed sadly.

He sincerely wished to be wrong, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d see Glain sinking in depression.

“Then I think you should do so now,” Dayar mumbled with a peck to Iltarel’s lips, “and I’ll go back home to find something to wear that will match your beauty. If I am late, you’ll know it’s not an insult, but a compliment,” he smiled and pecked again.

Iltarel giggled at that, then cleared his throat and corrected his attitude, laying a soft kiss on Dayar’s lips before they went out of his office and each went his way.

 

Glain was testing the room’s audio with Ziana when his friend returned. Iltarel decided to let him do and instead went to help Dain and a small group of other people, seemingly from his aisle, as they were setting the buffet on the table, all while trying to keep two of the elders – Freyar and Sayad – from starting to pick from it already. Sokal seemed quite glad to see the albino, and kindly introduced him to his colleagues. Sayad made a rude comment addressed at Kovat, something about how some people had worse skin problems than he did, and Iltarel gave the man a sympathetic look. Something about Kovat’s very proper behavior reminded him a bit of Sulek Maten, but  _ he _ cared not to make rude comparisons.

At last, he could snatch Glain for a moment.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the way things unfolded, but it was a dangerous-”

“-I know,” Glain cut off. “It’s my fault, and Dayar is right, I should never have done it and it’s better this way now. I’m sorry I put you in that situation to begin with, and it’s best we just stop talking about it. It’s safer, so let’s pretend none of it ever happened alright?” – Iltarel nodded. “Good. I hope you make him happy,” Glain cupped his jaw in a hand. “Give him warmth, Iltarel. You’ve brought me life so often, and now it’s time we go on with our lives… We’re not children anymore. I’m sorry it took so long for me to grow up, but I promise, I’ll do everything I can to support you. And not just you, everybody.”

“Don’t kill yourself, Glain…” his luzzur murmured, “I lo-” Glain silenced him with a finger on his lips.

“You love Dayar, I know. And it’s all good,” he assured. “Now go find him. You don’t have to stay here if you’d rather be with him…”

“Oh, he’ll be coming. He just might be a little late.”

“Oh, I see. That’s kind of him,” the young man nodded.

 

And so the preparations went on for another good half an hour. Then, people from various services of the Bureau came. Some came from the opposite building, no doubt attracted by the promise of food and music as much as the presence of a young Conservator of the Rokat family. The young man looked at all the people, observing the little details about them. Their personalities, behavior, little quirks... They were all different, all unique, and he forced himself to see that and grow a fondness for each and every one of them. He fueled himself with sympathy until he could almost believe in the warmth he was starting to feel. There, he engaged in talking with people, showing interest in them without going down the road of flatteries. He was still very formal but opening a little more, just enough to show the kind sentiments he had to offer. It didn’t matter that what was behind was empty so long as they believed in what he gave to see.

As the room got populated enough, he climbed on the little stage with Ziana and they addressed the audience to thank them all for their presence. It was a nice and funny speech in which Glain allowed a little of his former personality to show up to make his jokes spark, and by the end of it, he found they’d gotten into a nice dynamic. The atmosphere in the room had changed to something more relaxed as humor loosened the frigidity of profession into something more casual and entertaining.

Music started and Glain spotted Sokal and Elem dancing with grace while himself moved with Najal.

“So that’s your sister-aunt?” the woman smiled. “She looks cute. Not my type however: I prefer rounder shapes,” she grinned. “You’re the prettiest, don’t worry,” she whispered reassuringly, only half-joking.

He sighed and allowed himself to laugh. Then decided for the next dance, that since Dayar hadn’t showed up yet, he’d steal Iltarel. The albino wanted to refuse at first, but quickly gave up and indulged his friend. There  _ was _ a chemistry between them, and it couldn’t be denied, but Glain acted proper for once, maintaining a sober distance.

“I love you,” he still murmured to his friend when they were closer, “I’ll always love you. And I’ll love everybody. I want to be a good man, Iltarel.”

“Then don’t wish, just be it, Glain. You’re already a good person, you’re just a little misguided sometimes, but don’t try to be more than you are, more than you can be. Stretch yourself too much and you’ll just harm yourself and illness will come to fester in those wounds. Just be yourself, Glain. Please… be yourself,” Iltarel pleaded.

“Father thinks I don’t know what love is…”

“Love is too complicated for anyone to know what it is, Glain. I, for one, don’t. I just feel it, and that’s enough for me.”

The young Conservator smiled weakly. He couldn’t help but doubt his own feelings. Was it really love he felt? He wished he could keep on dancing with Iltarel forever, but he caught glimpse of Dayar. Just another song, please, just another song, he wished, holding to his luzzur and closing his eyes.

##  * * *

Dayar dressed in bronze browns, a color at least  _ he _ thought was elegant, but rarely found itself used in such contexts. Still, the suit had reasonably delicate intricacies to it, a formal look, but not work-formal. Something to be worn to special occasions, such as birthdays and enjoinment celebrations of colleagues. Not that such occurred all too often.

The room had a different atmosphere than usual, and the music added another layer to it. He’d expected to find Iltarel waiting for him at the entrance, as eager as he had been earlier in his room, but the only one he met with there was Freyar who, after a quick question, told him he was waiting for his daughter, who would arrive any moment with the communal transport.

It took him a bit longer than what would’ve been reasonable (considering he was looking for an albino) to find whom he was looking for. That Jarad hadn’t been waiting at the door hadn’t exactly been a scandal in itself; after all, Dayar had been clear with the fact that he might be late – however, that he’d find him dancing with Glain, after all the words they had exchanged together, was a bit of a shock, and instead of reacting to it instantly, he simply found himself a table where he could sit and watch the two of them.

They were both so eloquent, dancing together like they were meant to – two cogs in a machine, effortlessly spinning together, weaving progress and strength. What did Dayar have on that? He couldn’t even dance, despite his uncle’s efforts – it was the gender aspect to dancing that put him off. No matter he acted the woman part, who dictated the terms and led the dance, or the man, who was supposed to be attentive and follow along, he never did manage to get rid of the unpleasant tingle in his stomach that the exercise itself gave him. Watching Glain and Iltarel, it was something else entirely. They were unified, beautiful and they had a connection which Dayar envied them, for he didn’t have that level of contact with anyone, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the one who ruined it between Jarad and Rokat.

Finally the song ended, and Dayar made a pretense that he hadn’t at all spotted the two men – that way, they could shamelessly steal the next melody for themselves, and even more so, Iltarel wouldn’t have to learn the hard way how poor a dancer his shamar was. Unfortunately for him, the albino cared to join him, and Glain followed like pulled by a magnet.

“I hope you didn’t mind that I borrowed my friend,” he spoke first to Dayar, sincere in his words. “At least, you seemed to enjoy watching him,” he added and glimpsed at Iltarel who blushed a bit, getting darker on the cheeks.

“Why, thank you, Glain,” he muttered and sat in front of his shamar.

“You make a fine pair,” Dayar said, and paused a bit too long before urgently adding, “ _ of friends _ ,” but he’d already messed it up, and the blush on his cheeks made it evident that he knew just how badly he’d phrased that. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he added, which was even more redundant, since it wasn’t as if Iltarel had been pining away for him endlessly.

Iltarel tried to fumble something just as awkward so Glain cut that off and sat between them.

“ _ You should tell the two of you make an even finer pair of more-than-friends, _ ” he advised his friend, speaking in Bajoran.

“ _ He understands what you saying, _ ” Iltarel replied scoldingly.

“ _ I know. That’s the point, _ ” Glain served him the same look, then looked at Dayar. “ _ I’m living with a friend, and his wife won’t speak in Kardasi lately. She’s decided to expand her daughter’s languages and tasked me to be Lia’s new Bajoran referent. That poor Sulek, _ ” he chuckled, “ _ he’s not too delighted to hear his wife talking Klingon, but he loves her dearly. _ ”

“Sidil speaks Klingon too now?” Iltarel blinked. “I thought she was learning Vulcan – or was it Romulan?”

“ _ She does speak one of those two, _ ” Glain agreed. “ _ The one that’s not in the Federation, so Romulan, I think. She’s not interested in people and it’s difficult to get her to leave her flat, _ ” he told Dayar, “ _ otherwise I would have invited her. I’m sure the two of you could have had a bit of fun; she’s a little odd but very inspiring. She reads a lot on all sorts of topics and she’s really fond of languages, _ ” he explained. “Still, I wonder what p’takh and Qapla’ actually mean – Lia is very convincing when she says them.”

Glain’s job as a glorified babysitter left quite a picture in Dayar’s head, and although he would’ve rather had Iltarel all to himself, he found himself intrigued by the topic.

“P’tach is an insult, and for the niceties of this evening, I won’t detail it any further. Qapla’ on the other hand is a word for success, which the Klingons also use as a farewell phrase. It says more about their culture than their language, really,” he smiled a little, “I’d advise  _ against _ teaching children to swear, but then, I know those words are often all the more interesting if forbidden.”

“Oh,” Glain showed a bit of amusement, “that would make sense. Sidil  _ did _ compile a dictionary of Cardassian insults and keeps on expanding it whenever she discovers new ones in dialect.”

“She researches the history of the idioms,” Iltarel added, “and that’s what makes the descriptions actually interesting. I must admit I didn’t know that ‘the corner’ was so pejorative and implied that the insulted person was lesser, alike to how a housekeeper – who, by tradition, sits in the corner – is of a lower status than those they serve.”

“You didn’t know that?” Dayar burst with a mixture of utter disbelief and amusement, “That’s not possible,” he added as to scold Iltarel, then he changed approach, “But I guess that’s because you’re too proper to swear heavily and casually, yes?”

“Well, at least  _ I _ don’t swear casually,” he reckoned.

“I take it he hasn’t met your family yet?” Glain concluded.

“Well, I introduced Pitir,” Iltarel smiled sweetly at Dayar. “And I thought I’d introduce you to my uncle. He’s a very nice man, very polite, and his wife is just as gentle and delicate. They’re both in the military – he, in ballistics and strategy, and she’s a teacher in the same field,” he explained with an obvious fondness and enthusiasm. He interrupted himself however, as he noticed Sokal and Elem had approached the table and the Notator seemed to be waiting for a chance to say something.

He did seem a bit awkward.

“Yes?” Iltarel asked him.

“I- I’m sorry if I intrude,” Sokal started, “I promised His Edar that I would ah, right what I… flunked,” he thinned his eyes over his dubious phrasing. “Anyway, Your Edar, I have the immense joy to introduce you more formally to my wife-to-be, Elem Rokat,” he looked at her and his smile shone white and wide. “She brings me life,” he added with absolute sincerity. “And this is His Dayar Edar, Public Records Editor and, no-doubt our best translator,” he introduced the young man.

“Finally,” Dayar smiled and gave Elem a court nod. “Pleased to meet you. Please, have a seat, both of you,” he gesticulated to the free chairs, and Elem and Dain sat down, because it would’ve been rude to refuse. “I take it she’s already met  _ my _ future wife, Iltarel Jarad?” he cared to jest with a grin that was a bit too honest to be a full-on joke.

“We’ve met, yes,” Elem answered, then frowned, “is he becoming a woman?”

Glain burst in laughter at that and excused himself off the table (“I’ll let you happy couples have a two on two together; I need to find Ziana”) while Iltarel tried to figure out what he was supposed to say and how.

“I, no…” he said painfully. “And don’t you go on again with those blasphemous dresses,” he warned Elem. “Glain got a warning-” It was Sokal’s turn to burst in laughter.

“Your Jarad! There are limits to what you can pin on Elem!” he scoffed although he was highly amused by the memory. “He  _ liked _ it and it was artistic. A pity we’re not getting to see it again.”

“Ugh,” Iltarel rolled his eyes, refusing to think about it. “Rather tell us how things are going for you two?” he tried to switch the topic – it’d been a week and a half (fifteen days) since the trial, and he hoped the couple was settling well.

“Oh, yes! We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon to go meet Doctor Crell Moset on the morrow,” Sokal said excitedly, “and then three days later, it’s the big day!” he looked back at Elem, glorious joy shining in his eyes, letting her give them the little invitation cards Isar had prepared to be helpful.

Dayar thanked for the card and put it in his left chest pocket.

“Doctor Moset? I’m not going to pry on your reasons, but that’s  _ quite _ a name – Ah, but it’s good that you found someone,” he told Sokal on a more sober note, “we were all starting to worry about you, especially Freyar,” he cared to specify, even though when Freyar ‘cared’ it was usually more squander than anything alike to concern.

“We’re only visiting Moset as a courtesy,” Elem chose to share. “I believe he might have interest in taking a look at me, so I thought I’d offer. If he could find anything in me that could aid Cardassia in any sense of the word...” she trailed off, and Dayar nodded a bit.

“He probably would,” he estimated, without knowing much of the topic, “don’t you think, Your Jarad?”

“I’m not well-versed in such sciences, not enough to form much of a relevant opinion, I’m afraid,” he confessed easily, “but I’ll trust the two of you to know what you’re doing,” he decided to wish the couple quite simply. “It’s a short notice for the ceremony but I think I found nice gifts, if they can make it to here in time.”

“Oh, ah, well, that’s very nice of you,” Sokal got a little embarrassed. “We hadn’t accounted for that…” Instead he returned to Dayar: “I must admit I’m surprised. I did not think you worried for me… I honestly thought you didn’t even know who I am ...beyond that concept of a creepy tooth-puller stalking you with weird requests every once in awhile and failed attempts at conversation,” he gulped. “Freyar is that old man who plays kotra with Sayad sometimes, right? The one who constantly gossips… Well, I’m certainly  _ enchanted _ to know he worried about me. That must be quite some tales going on about my scales, I believe?”

“H-he cares in his own way; it can be a bit offensive, sometimes, but he means well,” Dayar excused Freyar, then swallowed.

He wasn’t about to tell Dain that he’d thought more of their relation than just that of shallow contacts – that Dain thought Dayar might not even know who he was, probably also spoke in reverse about how he felt for the same, and that was an embarrassing inequality of a social situation that he could do without.

“Well, at least I’m certain he cares for his daughter,” Sokal replied awkwardly, feeling like he’d made things worse again. “Oh, snap, this is terrible,” he muttered to himself before reaching out to the young man more openly: “Listen, I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I’ll just make it clear: I’m only a Notator but I think I’m a rather good one, and I’ve taken extensive classes in psychology – I’ve dealt with things before, and,” he gesticulated a little, “ _ What _ I mean is that you can come to me any time and it’ll be private talk. I know you’ve got a counselor but…” it was really hard to phrase it in a non-offensive way, “it’s just that I wish I could care for you in a different way -oh, dear Cardassia, this is really offensive and not the moment, I hope you’re still coming to the ceremony-  _ I’m sorry _ ,” the man almost started to back off from the table, all while Iltarel tried to keep him in place with small aborted attempts at talking.

“It’s fine,” Dayar insisted hurriedly, although still a bit confused at what exactly had just happened, “I don’t talk about – that is to say, I’m not an entanglement of psychological problems; I wouldn’t want to be seen as one,” he blurted, uncertain of whether that made it worse or better. “I... always thought of you as a friend, I just haven’t thought about telling you about, ah, those kind of things,” he wilted a bit on his chair.

That had gone weird so fast, and he wasn’t sure what he could’ve done to prevent it.

“Ah, really?” Sokal blinked in equal confusion, “I mean, that’s good, I just- I don’t see you as someone with issues,” he cared to specify. “Of course, I’m still a doctor and it’s in my nature to worry when I see things –  _ occupational hazard _ …” he tried to joke but felt like his entire being was a cramp. “I know you don’t want to be seen as… but I’m not sure counselors do a great job currently. I know the statistics –  _ you _ are  _ not _ a statistic, of course – but still, if you need to tell those things more frankly… You see,  _ I _ also could use it,” he argued a little more desperately. “There are people like Elem, yes, like you, Your Jarad,” he gestured at him, “but then there are those like you, and I  _ wish _ I could research those things better. It’s my job, Your Edar, my responsibility. I don’t want to harm children, I don’t want to harm the adults they’ll become either…” he explained more softly, a flicker of sadness passing through his eyes. “I dread mistakes because they have such consequences… I want all of us to be happy, be themselves, no matter what that means to  _ them _ .”

Dayar felt a bit like this might not be the best conversation to have, although he could see through the awkwardness enough to spot Sokal’s best intentions. Elem, on her behalf, had laid a hand on her shamar’s arm as to remind him about the conversational limits, something he should know better than her, considering her origin.

“I’ll think about it,” Dayar compromised while wondering to himself what such a meeting would even end up being like, considering that they’d both ended themselves up in such an awkward pattern. “Thank you for the invitation,” he patted the pocket with the card a little, “I’ll make sure to come. There. To attend, I mean.”

“Ah, thank you,” Sokal smiled. “I’ll probably do better in a professional environment – you should ask Elem if you’re curious: she’s been my ‘research subject’ as you know,” he tried to joke again. “Not that you… Uhm, so, I heard you found His young Rokat to be a terrible baker?” he tried to quit the topic, mentioning the first thing that came to his mind.

“Please, Your Dain…” Iltarel groaned like he was in pain.

They were spared further awkwardness as the music ended and no further song came. Instead, Glain and Ziana came on the podium again, and addressed the crowd, still as cheerful and fun as before – it was quite amazing how good a synergy they were starting to get, both perfectly at ease in talking in front of everybody, and fearless about what was to come. Iltarel moved his chair to be next to Dayar and give him a better view, so he could see Ziana better. Sokal resumed to a more relaxed state, moving too,  to be closer to Elem (but still in a socially decent way).

As the little speech ended, with Glain thanking all those who came and especially the colleagues he had the chance to work with, with a special mention to Chief Archivist Damar for being a wonderful superior; the young man took stance with Ziana and the music started again.

“Oh, that’s the song he sung,” Sokal whispered to Dayar, “I suppose it’s more acceptable that Ziana does the female part…” – Iltarel glared at him at that comment, as to tell him not to mention the dress. Not that Sokal intended to.

They silenced to listen to the song instead, and it was just as brilliant as before. Maybe even better in the vocals, and Ziana was doing very good too. They’d rehearsed a bit to dance a little as well, and the audience seemed rather enthused, although slightly puzzled by the whole thing. Still, in the end, they bowed to the actors or drummed their fingers or knuckles on the tables.

“I wish I were any good at singing,” Sokal sighed. “He’s really good. And Elem too,” he smiled at her fondly.

Through the entire show, Elem had caught herself smiling at both the present and the memory of last time. While that was nothing but an amusing memory to Dain and Jarad, she had to hold it to her like one of her last blissful hours of keeping Nall as a father figure. He had loved her then, things between them had been warmer, safer. But then, the moment had to come to an end just like last time, and as Sokal smiled at her, she couldn’t help but to tickle with worry over when this too would become a memory of something she couldn’t keep.

“I thought your family found my singing to be depressive,” she admitted to Sokal with a smile and a headshake.

“Depressive?” questioned Dayar, “Do you sing funeral lamentations, then? The kind of service they have for children?”

“Ah, no,” Elem shook her head a bit, “it’s mostly... Trillian songs. Federation songs,” she added with a wince, “It’s not something I should keep on doing – maybe I should learn one of those Cardassian funeral lamentations instead, it’d be more fitting.”

Dayar stared at her for a moment, then interjected: “I’d like to hear a Trillian song. What language do you sing in?”

Elem made a negative head movement and blushed a little.

“I don’t want to piss on Glain’s parade,” she told in a tone of voice that didn’t align at all with the words she’d just said.

“I’m sorry, what? Piss?” Dayar frowned a bit and cleared his throat with a look to Dain, “I don’t believe I’ve heard that before...”

“You’d hear it a lot more if you were around her more often,” Sokal chuckled. “I believe she meant to say she doesn’t want to undermine his efforts,” he smiled at her a second. “But if you’re going to sing Cardassian songs, I think you could discover something more… well, it can be serene, it doesn’t have to be depressive…”

“Maybe you should try singing some kantoka,” Iltarel suggested. “It doesn’t have lyrics. The voice is the instrument. And people find it depressive.  _ I _ quite like it. I think it’s serene and energizing.”

“Because you’re  _ weird _ ,” a female voice said as Najal appeared behind him, setting her hands on his shoulders. “Hello, Your Edar,” she flashed at him, “you look ravishing,” she appreciated and took the seat Glain had previously occupied. “I’m Najal Keral, archivist in finance and taxes,” she said shamelessly. “You must be Notator Dain and… Elem Rokat,” she looked her over. “Glain told me a lot about you, all of it good. Well, almost all of it,” she admitted. “You’ve beaten him sorely at finding a spouse.”

Elem felt a pang of bad conscience and looked down at the hands in her lap, then reached out to take Dain’s. She didn’t get to say anything, however, as Dayar interrupted her attempts at forming a sentence.

“I am sure Glain Rokat would have found someone already, hadn’t he been so obviously desperate,” he shared his point of view. “There’s nothing as repellent as desperation, and he reeks of it – it’s not an insult, it’s an observation,” he reassured his company while leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“He deserves love,” Elem said pointedly, “and it’s not  _ he _ who is desperate, it’s his father. Nall is going to condemn him to a loveless life, the way he’s forcing him to rush into things he never looked for in the first place. It’s not as if Nall was enjoined with children already when he was Glain’s age.”

She puffed herself up, and Dayar decided not to argue with her, because he knew there was only one way this conversation could go, and that was to a place none of them wanted to visit.

“Well,  _ I _ think you should be careful, because Glain and I may end up enjoining before any of you does,” Najal decided to say. “We’ve been considering it for what, two years?” she looked at Iltarel.

“Don’t look at me like I know,” he diverted his gaze.

“Ha! Like you wouldn’t know! Your Iltarel Jarad, don’t lie to me, you’re very bad at it,” she snickered and glanced at Dayar instead. “You know, Your Edar, this tendency of yours to be so vehement about His young Rokat could be interpreted in certain ways…” she leaned towards Iltarel to add in a lower voice that all could still hear, “If I were you, I’d beware of the shallow water, Jarad…”

“Your Kerel,” Sokal threw her bit of a look, “His Edar isn’t shallow!”

“Dear me, that’s not what I said!” she laughed. “And that’s not what I meant either! I hope I didn’t offend you,” she looked at the editor. “But you do sound a little obsessed about that young man,” she maintained. “Can’t fault you, there are many reasons I’ve considered him myself.”

“Then you’ll have to hurry,” Elem chimed at Najal, dug in her pocket and withdrew an invitation card, “you’ve got until the eight in the week to intercept us,” she challenged with a small smile as she handed the envelope over.

Meanwhile, Dayar had gotten to his feet and straightened out the folds in his suit.

“I believe out of everyone at this table, I am the one who is the  _ least _ obsessed with him,” he exclaimed in a poorly controlled hiss. “I don’t even know why I came here, but it certainly wasn’t to be harassed by his friends. I’m sorry, Your Jarad, but I believe I can no longer satisfy your earlier request, so I’m leaving this establishment. Good night.” And then, he turned on his heel, just like that.

“Wait!” both Najal and Iltarel interrupted, then the woman decided to speak first because the other was already getting up to follow the movement, “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to offend or harrass-”

“-I’ll take care,” Iltarel cut her short.

“It was nice to see you, Edar…” Sokal tried to be polite although he was a little stressed by the sudden outburst.

Najal bit her lips as she watched them go, looking at the card right after, and then at Elem.

“Very pretty card,” she commented, “I’ll be there with Glain. And I’ll try to avoid disturbing the other guests…” she nodded, glancing toward the other two again. “When he said that boy was hormonal and had an explosive temper, I must admit I didn’t imagine it was that bad. Poor little one, must be a difficult time for him…” she sighed with compassion. “But tell me, how’s it going for you?” she switched the topic.

 

Meanwhile, Iltarel followed Dayar out the room but caught his hand as soon as they were alone outside.

“Shamar, I’m sorry…”

Dayar stopped as soon as Iltarel caught his hand, then he turned around, frustration still arraying from him.

“I love  _ you _ ,” he finally managed to mangle his voice into words, “I want  _ you _ , not him. And I don’t want anyone to doubt that – I don’t want anyone to think I’d stray from you – shamar...” he stepped closer and laid a hand against Iltarel’s cheek, then leaned their foreheads together, “I’m so tired of Glain Rokat...”

“Then leave him be,” Iltarel hugged him swiftly. “Or if you want to make it a bold statement, let’s get back in there holding hands, let’s dance in front of them all, and when they watch, kiss me to let your feelings be known,” he gazed into his lover’s eyes. “I love you, Dayar, I love you so much and I wouldn’t care to get a report if it’s like this. You’re my shamar.”

Dayar smiled through the stress and closed his eyes, holding Iltarel, digging his fingers in the folds of the cloth on his back.

“I can’t,” he drew another breath through the nose, “I can’t leave him be, because he’s a part of you – and... and I can’t dance,” he admitted more shamefully. “I’m just not good at it.” 

“But you’re good at kissing,” the clerk argued, grinning close to Dayar’s lips, “And from now on, Glain won’t be working here anymore. And I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t have to see him as much as we can avoid it,” he promised. “ _ You _ are my shamar,” he murmured, letting the word die into a kiss.

As their lips closed the distance between them, Dayar found himself distracted by the vivid memory of Iltarel and Glain dancing. The way they had moved, the synergy between them, the beauty that they had been. They had been together in a way that Dayar  _ knew _ Iltarel wouldn’t have with anyone else – a connection that went beyond love, deeper, darker, stronger. Less shallow.

He broke the kiss and struggled out of the albino’s arms, into the cold, and then, with a thud, into the wall.

“Go celebrate your luzzur’s promotion,” he told him without looking at him, “he needs his friends. He doesn’t need me – the only kindness I can offer him is to leave, so I won’t distract you from the reason you’re here. This isn’t our party, Iltarel,” he looked up at his shamar, “this is not the scene at which we get to prove to everyone that we belong together. It’s Glain Rokat’s party, and I don’t want to ruin that for him, because I know you would never forgive me, once the initial arousal dies away and you remember who you are to him. Let me go home, shamar.”

Iltarel blushed with a little shame.

“You are so much kinder than me… I’ll let you go then. But I’ll come to visit you soon. I’ll come pick you after work and I’ll whisk you away to visit my uncle,” he promised, laying his palm against Dayar’s. “I love you. Your eyes are as colorful as you are, you know that?” he smiled kindly and let him go.

 

Finding Glain proved more difficult than he had expected however, as the young man was gifted at blending in the crowd seamlessly. In the end, he caught sight of him leaving the room with a young girl – Freyar’s daughter apparently. But she came back alone a bit later, said he’d gone to get a breath of fresh air. Iltarel didn’t like that notion entirely and found the young man on a balcony, looking down the railing.

“You’re not thinking of something stupid, are you?”

“I’m always thinking of something stupid, Iltarel,” he replied without even looking at him. “He hates me, doesn’t he?”

“No,” Iltarel denied, explaining shortly. Glain snorted.

“How fine for you that you love each other… No, I mean it, really. It’s the best I could ever hope for, isn’t it? That you’d be happy. That he’d be happy. I don’t have to be part of it. Not everything’s about love…” he argued, then followed up simply with, “Leave. Leave me alone  _ now _ , Iltarel Jarad.”

“I’ll do if you leave the balcony-”

“-You think I’d jump for real?” Glain glared at him. “I’m not  _ that _ selfish.” But he did feel selfish. He couldn’t help being selfish, could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	27. III - The one that keeps and those who escape

#  The one that keeps and those who escape

Glain looked at the woman on the screen for a while. She sat on the bed, leaned against the wall and waiting without anything else to do but to contemplate her actions and her fate. Young Archon Sidail Mekar was starting to rise in popularity. The public adored her sense of poetic justice. Glain had to admit she was indeed quite creative, and his father had warned him that this could make his job more difficult if he wasn’t careful in his approach.

The young Conservator braced himself and required access to the detention area. When he approached the cell, his client looked at him and sighed, gazing back into nowhere. Tura Ulad had been found guilty of poisoning her husband’s mistress to disfigure her, and Archon Mekar had sentenced her to reimburse the victim’s plastic and psychological care,  _ and _ to serve as test specimen for cosmetic products, since beauty mattered so much to her.

“Well, well,” Glain gave her a sorry smile as he stepped into the cell. “Mind if I sit?” he asked politely, waving his PADD at the bed before sitting with a leg folded across it so he could turn to face her better. She didn’t seem to have cried so he didn’t have to offer the handkerchief he prepared.

“Tura Ulad,” he addressed her with gentle concern, “forty-two years old, enjoined to Obran Ulad, mother of three beautiful children – Tisa, fifteen and doing good at the Sutark Institute of Administrative Clearance; Sugal, eight and runner up of his school’s kotra competition; and Vidil, seven and very social, for what I can see,” he looked at his PADD. “You, yourself, are an allocation inventorist,” he looked at her and she shrugged. “You’re this person we have to thank for having desks, chair, computer and, most importantly, kitchen apparels in common rooms, aren’t you?” he smiled.

She finally reacted, a little surprised.

“Yes, indeed. You looked that up?” she focused her blue eyes on him some more.

“I have a friend in that business too,” he admitted easily. “Most people don’t even know that job exists, but it’s quite a necessary one, especially when offices are moved from a building to another,” he said and she seemed to appreciate to get a bit of professional recognition. “Your records are very good so far, you’re a good employee, a good citizen – oh, of course there’s always this or that little report of misconduct, but really nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing bad,” he announced but winced. “I read the interrogator’s report quite thoroughly, but given all this… I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to tell me the full story. How did a fine, beautiful woman like you, end up assaulting another woman? Tell me, Tura,  _ what _ happened to you? What’s your story?” he looked at her with concern and serious, open and ready to receive.

Oh, it took more than that to get her to speak, of course. He had to go the roundabout way, starting with questions that seemed barely related to her case. Generic questions, just to shape a portrait of her from which he could build more, like a tree growing in both directions, up and down, into the past and the future, tying up to the present. He used his PADD to run researches and check the facts she mentioned, pretending he didn’t have all the information yet – and truly, he didn’t have  _ all _ of it. He let her think he did his job on the go, still, and even let her go with some lies, to let her believe that, maybe, he couldn’t know everything or only faked to run certain researches to assert more power on her than he truly had. It was a delicate balance to find, to get her more at ease but not too much. Get her to speak without fearing him, but keep her respect.

“What you did is what you did, and I’m not judging you for it. I’m only a Conservator, and that’s what my job is about. To conserve what can be, to keep you as a part of society. Of course, the trial won’t be pleasant; it never is. But that is the price of absolution, so you can engage on your path of redemption and shed yourself from the acts that once tainted you. It’s not about the past, you know? It’s not about what you did. It’s about the future. Your future, the future of your couple, the future of your children, the future of Cardassia as a society… We still need you, Tura. We need you to still be there to tell how many chairs are needed in which room, even if that seems a bit far from your current concerns. We need you to be a mother for your children –  _ they _ need you. And your husband…” Glain sighed. Yes, there was a risk that he’d disassociate. “Whatever happens, you must be strong for the future. You must confess on the Archon’s call. Spare yourself and your family the disgrace. You  _ love _ Obran. He’s a good man and a good husband. He deserves to hear your confession before taking any hasty decision,” he smiled comfortingly. “It’s your duty to confess, to protect your couple, your family, to relieve your consciousness and for all of us to go on, knowing goodness and light always triumph from the shadows lingering in our hearts. You have this power in you, Tura, and I believe in you. I believe you can do this,” he assured with conviction.

It’d taken two days. Four hours on the first, six hours on the second. But she promised she’d confess, and she seemed ready to play along. Nall appreciated that approach and Glain could find a little relief in that. However, the respite wasn’t going to last for a lot longer. Tilayan and Kilem had fooled everybody and run away to join Elem and Sokal and go meet Crell Moset along with them. Why, Glain had no idea – or rather, he didn’t want to be right about his inklings. Yet, he decided to step in and take the blame to spare Keelani who thought them gone with  _ him _ for a few days. Those kids didn’t pass the test of State Prodigy for no reason.

“They’re with Sidil, yes,” he assured. “When I told her Tilayan speaks Bajoran perfectly, she said she’d love to have her at home and I saw no harm in it. And then, you know how it is with Kilem, he had to go too,” he smiled with confidence, making his lies on the go and caring to believe in them enough that even Keelani had to wonder if he wasn’t telling the truth after all. Nall wasn’t pleased not to have been warned of this – Tilayan and Kilem were adopted but they were still  _ his _ adopted children, and  _ he _ was the head of the family, not Glain! Still, the young man thought he could afford to receive his anger if it meant he protected Keelani.

##  * * *

What truly happened however, was that on the night Sokal Dain and Elem had announced their desire to enjoin, Nall wasn’t the only one to have heard that the Notator had gotten an appointment for Elem to meet the exobiologist. And as it so happened, Elem wasn’t the only one to be familiar with Crell Moset’s name. Kilem was positive that he must have met him – or his mother, at least,  _ knew _ him.

“And you think he might know if more of your family is alive?” Tilayan concluded. She thought about it. Clearly, Nall and Glain would be opposed to let the socially-awkward child go bother an eminent scientist who most probably didn’t have any interest in talking with a child. But Kilem  _ wanted _ to go, and the young girl knew just how stubborn the boy was, so she opted to help.

It took a few days for her to find her way into the com network, and she figured that hacking into the Dains’ home computer was plain impossible. It wasn’t anything alike to getting into the network back on Bajor, no. There were real, complex securities. Thinking about it some more, she had to consider that, maybe, there was a way to get in. She needed to get the door open and maintain it open, and in a way, maybe it wasn’t so complicated.

After two days of programmation, she called, asking to speak to Elem, then immediately asked her to encrypt the signal on her side and call her back with the key she was sending. She did feel a little bad to trick her… what was Elem, now? Her aunt? Either way, guilt was easily overridden by thrill. She asked for some news, gave some too, then ‘ended’ the transmission. Truly, her program simply cut the audio and video while preventing the other side to hang up. From this point, she could easily hack in, access the calendar and find all the details related to the trip to Culat. That was brilliant.

All remained to do was to find a way to book train tickets and access the station without getting arrested. The first issue was solved by asking for Keelani’s thumb print to buy what she thought to be a dozen cat toys, since she still had procuration on the Housekeeper bank account – the woman obliged gleefully. The second issue was solved by asking Nall for an authorization to use the transports – to go to the library and to the sportshall, Tilayan argued politely. It all took cunning, daring and lying, but such were the things the kids had learned to excel in while at the orphanage. What they really wanted, they schemed to acquire.

At last, they made their way through the city, keeping close together in fear either of them might get whisked away. They were controlled several times, but each time, Tilayan handled the situation convincingly and politely enough that they were let go on-way ‘to the Sumahn Museum of Natural Arts’, which was close to their real destination.

Boarding the train was slightly more difficult. Tilayan wasn’t sure they would be allowed in so easily without a guardian to escort them, and for a stressful moment, the kids had to part to better sneak around the dock controllers, scan their PADD on their own and get inside the train. They didn’t relax before the long vehicle started to move, and they could finally travel through it until they found Elem and Sokal. Needless to say, the adults weren’t too pleased by the surprise.

“I should really call your father, tell him everything, and put you on the first train going on the way back,” Sokal fumed while checking his PADD to see if doing so wouldn’t mess with their own schedule too much – an equally good excuse not to look at Tilayan who was now pale and on the edge of tears.

“P-please… I’ll go back, but take Kilem along then…” she tried to bargain.

Kilem made himself small enough to hide a little behind Tilayan, while Elem and Sokal were judging them with equal sternness.

“It’s supposed to be a  _ private _ appointment,” Elem said as she looked out through the window. She wasn’t sure how she’d ever get back in Nall’s good grace if she let the kids come along, and a part of her very much wanted to get back what had been taken from her – maybe Nall had never been her actual father, but he’d felt like one. She had loved him like one.

“There,” Sokal finally said. “Upon arrival at the station, we’ll wait for the next train to go back, put you on it, and I guess that’ll solve it. I bought the tickets,” he concluded and put down his PADD, laying his hand across the table to ask for the kids’ own devices.

Tilayan gave them so he could transfer the tickets and mumbled something sounding like an apology made painful by her ongoing effort not to cry. And Sokal made sure to still not look at her because he really did not want to embarrass her. He then typed silently to send a message to Nall to inform of the situation and of how he’d solved it.

The rest of the travel was less eventful and a bit dampened, even when Tilayan opted to go to the bathroom, where Kilem followed her. She cried a little and spent some time fixing her looks and her makeup – she tried to keep it subtle like Keelani taught her. Kilem’s presence was soothing as ever and she tried her best to act the mature part, devising a plan B with him.

When they returned to their seats, she negotiated with the adults, trying to get them to accept to deliver a letter to the doctor instead, and Sokal decided to accept so they would hopefully be satisfied with that. And well, maybe it was a good exercise too, and at least it kept them busy on their PADDs for the rest of the trip.

Once arrived however, it appeared that some military exercise had started, and all the passengers who didn’t have an Om Red Seven Black clearance had to go through a lengthy full-body search performed by the students of some military Institute. Of course, none of Sokal, Elem or the children had Om Red Seven Black clearance, and so they had to endure being ordered around by a group of fifteen-year olds in uniforms, alike to scaled-down military officers with still uneven proportions or shifting voice pitches for some of them. While the group didn’t carry any suspicious goods, they were still kept for further questioning as soon as it was found out that Elem was a hybrid. Yet, the interns and the younger students who assisted them seemed more fascinated by Sokal’s scales, and the man really thought he was going to lose his temper when the train back to Lakat departed without Tilayan and Kilem onboard. Instead, he demanded to see the docent, teacher or whoever was in charge, and had a rather heated exchange with the woman. By the end of it, she agreed to let them go but had  _ him _ apologize for his lack of respect to a military institution and his lack of cooperation too.

By then, evening was nearing, and to make things worse, the students had supposedly detected an “explosive hazard” on the rail tracks and all trains were blocked. Departures were canceled, and Sokal just gave Elem a  _ very tired _ look.

“I  _ would _ ask that Institute to refund the billets and pay the kids a hotel room, but at this point I just really want to go have dinner with you on the campus,” he said, a bit pathetically. “I could pay for a room for them, we put them there and go on with our schedule…”

Elem looked at the kids, then at Sokal – they were all tired, she realized with a sigh.

“Let’s just go eat something, all four of us. There’s no way of knowing what they’d do left to their own devices,” she muttered with a head shake and smirked. She couldn’t blame them for being determined – after all, that was how she’d ended up going to Cardassia herself.

“I want soup!” chimed Kilem with delight, rubbing his little belly.

Sokal didn’t argue with that.

“Soup it is, then,” he said and led the way to the city shuttle station.

 

They took the direction of the universitary campus, where little restaurants were many and had a rather good reputation. They were manned by interns of service schools and Culat was known to have rather outstanding education in matter of cuisine. And it always was quite endearing to be served by young men and women.

“It’s a good place to find housekeepers,” he shared, “It’s not uncommon for rich people from Coranum, Barvonok or Paldar to come here to find teens with good education in housekeeping and cooking. Their accent is a bit different, but after a few years in the capital, it evens out quickly – and some of them are very-well trained in ‘State’s speech’,” he glanced at a girl who spoke most elegantly. “They have a pretty bright future ahead of them.”

Tilayan then asked if her accent was bad, and Sokal made her more aware that yes, there was still something a bit military about her Kardasi sometimes, and an accent from Bajor too; but it wasn’t bad, he assured. Diversity was interesting and he personally found it quite attractive – he regretted having said that because Tilayan became quite dark in the neck and Elem was far too amused by his own embarrassment. He conveyed that he found  _ her _ accent to be quite hot, but in a much more discreet manner so to be more appropriate around the kids.

At least, the meal turned out to be a rather pleasant experience as a result. The food was good, well-served, in correct proportions, and the teenagers doing the service were very polite. The boy in charge of their table almost served them the dishes from another table, yes, but he corrected his mistake instantly, although he remained ashamed for the rest of his shift, and as a result, nearly messed the billing. A fourteen year-old girl had to come and help him, and comforted him nicely on the way back to the counter. It was quite sweet.

 

On the way to the hotel, Tilayan asked about the Talisiyan Institute, where she and Kilem were supposed to start studying soon. Sokal had actually studied there and was very positive that it would be a great experience for them, although Kilem wasn’t too pleased to know that males and females were separated, which meant he wouldn’t get to see Tilayan much. Sokal was confident they’d find ways, though, but wasn’t going to tell them how to be disorderly.

He’d hoped that he and Elem would have nice sex at the hotel, but of course, the kids’ presence quite hindered the lust, and really… they were all quite tired. So they acted tame and went to bed at a reasonable hour to be up and well-rested for the next day’s meeting.

 

In retrospective, Sokal thought that the way the entire trip had turned out was an appropriate prelude to the appointment, which also turned out to be just as messy and surprising, although rather pleasant. Crell Moset was, well… a rather disorderly person, probably a bit too outspoken. What with Elem and Kilem being equally disorderly, the Notator did have concerns at various moment that they’d all end up with Obsidian reports and warning.

Yet, the doctor was most helpful. He did recall Elem and was eager to get a chance to perfect the medicine he’d first created (although the eagerness was likely fueled by Obsidian shadows). He recalled both Kilem and his mother too, and found the child’s presence to be a happy surprise – the exobiologist easily told of how he loved children but couldn’t have any of his own since he was infertile, and that it was very fortunate for Kilem that  _ he _ didn’t seem to be cursed with the same flaw.

Then Elem spontaneously invited the doctor to her and Sokal’s enjoinment ceremony. The exobiologist was eager to accept, and Sokal couldn’t help a mental snort of laughter as he imagined how it would be for poor Arkeny Kovat to be around the eminent scientist. For all the disorder that Crell Moset could mean, it seemed to be worth the hassle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	28. III - Blind date

#  Blind date

Delna Reyal was twenty-four and had successfully graduated through her studies to work as a psychologist in social services. The late trial in which she had had little choice but to disassociate from her father was, of course, a bit of a blow for someone whose very job was to prevent such disasters from happening. Unfortunately, although her colleagues knew that this kind of job had to be performed by someone  _ external _ to the family, and that Enker Reyal wasn’t the sort of man who would ever have accepted to free-willingly set foot in a psychologist’s or family counselor’s office; Delna was notified quickly after the trial that it would be best for her if she could find someone to enjoin  _ soon _ in order to get rid of that family name, since Reyal already was her mother’s name (and as such, there was little which Leedjal and Delna could do to wash off the shame). Thus, when Enjam Rokat (of all persons) asked for help in a predicament of his own, the women decided to take the chance and let Delna meet him.

Enjam’s family counselor, His Sleen Kerat, had opted to set the meeting in a teahouse, in Torr (and Delna knew that man really liked South Torr). It was borderline unconventional, but social services were usually allowed lax margins; so long as they got things done, nobody really cared  _ how _ it was done.

 

Delna arrived well ahead of time, hoping to see Sleen first to maybe clear things up a bit. It’d been a long time since they last saw each other as they’d carefully avoided to cross ways in their career paths. Sleen was loyal to the Rokat family, and Delna was slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of seeing him again. But then, Enjam ended up arriving first, and she and he found themselves sitting and waiting together at the table.

Enjam, who had been  _ slightly _ panicked to turn up on time, only for Sleen  _ not _ to do the same for him (and it had gotten even worse as the girl, too, was already there), had to tell himself that  _ he _ was the 58-year-old, and  _ as a Glinn _ he’d faced more dangerous things than a barely-adult-girl. But perhaps that was what made it such a challenge for him – she wasn’t a ship of Romulans or Klingons, she was a young woman, and his armour did very little to protect him as the two of them sat down together in uncomfortable silence.

“His Kerat is often a bit late, I believe,” she said awkwardly after a while. “It’s often how it is with social services… Maybe we should order something?” she suggested, eying at the menu.

“Yes, maybe we should,” he agreed to her proposition a little too eagerly – he looked at the menu, taking extra long to read, hoping that Sleen would arrive to save him before he’d have to take more initiative. Sleen didn’t magically appear to save him however, and so he put the tablet down. “What would you like to have?” he asked politely as a last resort of dignity, “My treat, of course,” he added, as it was proper.

“Hm, hm,” she shifted a little in her seat and pulled a strand of hair back behind her ear, “I think I’ll have choban fishmilk with yujee cream cloud, black taran brits and black Kanar topping,” she smiled maliciously. “My career  _ did _ get damaged by that trial,” she pointed, although her tone wasn’t actually accusative. In fact, it was almost thankful and her gaze was soft.

Enjam smiled a little and arranged the order on the tablet menu – he couldn’t take the same, as he’d hoped he might do, because hers was a too womanly order, and he was a Glinn and he had things to think of, such as his reputation as a male –  _ especially _ with the rumors going about that he was like his nephew.

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t know that my brother made up that entire story that that half-alien was his child,” he thought to share as he figured he’d just order a glass of plain, blue Kanar and a bowl of narak fish soup to go with it. “To think that my father was disorderly like that...” he added with a bit of shame as he finalised the order and put the tablet aside with a small twitch.

She shrugged and laughed amusedly.

“Your Rokat, you must be the most proper man in the entire military!” she chided him. “At least, it was only  _ one _ alien, and considering she was a Betazoid, he might not even have been entirely consenting,” she suggested carefully. “Those aliens are reported to have both a terrifying sexual drive and some of the most powerful mental capabilities of this entire quadrant, and keeping up a mindshield  _ permanently _ for such a long period isn’t the sort of strain that even interrogators have to put up with. As far as I remember your father, he was a good Cardassian and I wouldn’t judge him on that one mistake,” she said and opted not to reveal that she’d caught Melekor looking at her past teenage self in a way that wasn’t very appropriate – she’d been only sixteen then! “If you must know, my own father wasn’t any better and I prefer not to think of the things he did on Bajor,” she sighed.

Enjam wasn’t sure if what she’d just said was offense or flattery, and simply answered with a nod, opting out of the dad-conversation.

“A lot of things that happened then would be better un-done,” he agreed with the statement about Bajor and tried to discreetly catch a look around, just in case Sleen might finally be arriving. “Did you ever go there?” he inquired, “To Bajor, I mean. To visit your father – I didn’t,” he added, then added even faster, “I mean, I didn’t go to Bajor,” then he added even more quickly, “nor your father, really. I don’t know why I would’ve wanted to visit him, I’m quite busy serving Gul Meret, and we were usually around the other end of the Union.”

It was obviously very hard for Delna not to laugh at his fumbling words.

“I’ve been there, but when I was, I tried to stay away from my father as much as possible. I preferred to be with the civilians if I could, see how they were coping with the Resistance threat… It was actually very interesting to see that they simply became used to it, although it never made tragedy less tragic whenever it happened. On one occasion I could travel to a safer province and it was really beautiful there. Some Cardassians had actually managed to develop very good relationships with the local and-” she interrupted herself, “-oh, well, I’m not going to bore you with my work,” she chuckled and welcomed their servings as they arrived.

Somehow, it was also the moment Sleen chose to arrive, ordering tea with fishmilk and golden Kanar.

“Sorry for the delay,” he apologized, “my current ‘wife’ had to take line seven, and you know how it is with the railworks lately,” he settled on a chair. “Anyway, good day to you, I hope?” he smiled at them both.

“Pretty good, so far,” Delna spooned some of the brownish foam topping her mug. “His Rokat was telling me he’s usually at the other end of the Union.”

“Enjam!” Sleen glared at him, which made for a very comical picture for Delna, looking at that twenty-two-year old reprimand a seasoned soldier – she could appreciate that – “Do I need to remind you that while enjoinment doesn’t require you to be home due to your military career, it  _ would _ be preferable if you could be present to raise the children you’re supposed to be having in the future?”

“I’m not entirely opposed to having a male referent at home,” Delna decided to say, “but I tend to think it’s nicer for the children to see their father. My male referent was my grandfather, until he died, at which point we had someone like you,” she looked at Sleen. “I have no male referent to offer from my family, so, unless your brother would like to raise his nephew or niece,” she turned her attention back to Enjam, “I’m afraid you’ll have to either be there, either hire someone – and preferably not someone different every few years.”

“Counter-Attachment Policy, maximum three years of referring in a row,” Sleen lifted his hands in defense. That was the law, there was no arguing with it.

And that was a topic that Enjam hadn’t really researched into, and he felt a bit embarrassed by the entirety of it and his own blatant lack of knowledge in relation to it.

“Is that a new thing? It doesn’t that mean I have to exchange other household staff, too? It took me three years to find a housekeeper who has the right hand with my-” he cleared his throat and lowered his voice, “-my cats. They are very picky,” he avoided as much as possible to look at Sleen and Delna, since he knew how childish it was to keep pets in the first place, and that, since he wasn’t a child, it wasn’t a much normal thing to entertain when one  _ should _ be off founding a family.

“You have cats!” Delna clapped her fingertips together, cooing in approval.

“Hm,” Sleen cleared his voice, “I don’t think there’s anything about this that would need to be changed, and since I’ve heard that Her Reyal-”

“-Please, call me Delna,” Delna cut off, “I’m trying to get rid of that other name…”

“Oh, yes… As I was saying, since Delna likes animals too and has no sign of allergies to them whatsoever, there is no reason to believe that your children would develop any such problematic allergy, so there is  _ no _ reason to worry about the house, the cats and the housekeeper. However, since your housekeeper is female, Enjam, you might want to look into a male one to add up if you plan on not being at home a lot. By decree, all Cardassian children have the fundamental right to be raised by a male and a female, and it is the duty of their parents to ensure that this right is respected at all time, until the age of Enjoinment, which is nineteen. The child is deserving of the presence of both male and female parents at the same time for a duration equal, in total, to two thirds of the year. The remaining third can be shared between the parents up a 6-3 pernine arrangement. With Enjam being a military, he is allowed to cancel entirely his parental duty for this third of the year, but only once every three years, and his common attendance to parental duty with Delna can be reduced to 3 pernine on the same once-every-three-years basis. Cumulating both lacks of attendance is only allowed once every six years. Failure to fulfill the required number of days of parental attendance will trigger an investigation from social services, and, if the missing parent fails to provide a referent of their sex as replacement, the child may be removed from the family, and the parents may be banned from having children ever again – although, again, Enjam’s military position includes a right of dispensation, which means that the State will aid him in finding a male referent  _ but _ State referents can work for a family for only three years in a row, as I said previously,” Sleen hurried the end of the explanation so he could thank the waiter who brought his tea-with-fishmilk-and-Kanar. “Now, that’s for the theory. In practice, a male housekeeper can make for a good referent, but a cohabitant can also do the job. However it  _ is _ preferable to choose someone who is infertile in order to avoid ah,  _ rumors _ .”

Enjam nodded at all that – it was a lot of time that would be lost, he reckoned, and wasn’t pleased about it.

“So I uh, I have to be home?  _ With _ my wife and child for two thirds of a year and then occasionally for the rest?” he tried to summarize with little faith. “You do realize I work aboard a ship, right? And I – this male referent seems a bit – how do I know I don’t end up with a very bad person tending to  _ my _ child?” he pressed with little faith in malekind in general.

“Well, you can make a list of points that you want your referent to meet, such as educational methods: forbidding the use of physical violence, encouraging the child to work on certain skills,” Sleen suggested, “and as your family counselor, I will periodically review that those points of expectation are met. And if for some reason a point cannot be met – say, if you want your child to develop an ability for which they prove to have no talent or interest – I’ll inform you of the situation so we can see if this point must be maintained or modified. Then, if your child is a male or an infertile female, you may also be allowed to take them onboard with you. There are regulations for this as well, of course, as we really don’t want children to be exposed to acute danger.”

“That  _ could _ be worthwhile,” Enjam agreed to the last part, imagining himself showing the controls to a small version of himself, a concept that put some warmth in his belly that had nothing to do with the heat of the Kanar he’d just consumed. “How early may I bring them with me to duty?” he asked with newfound fascination.

“That’s up to  _ my _ discretion,” Delna answered firmly but warmly.

“It is?” Enjam asked in disbelief, then cleared his throat and tried to take a calmer posture, “I mean, of course it is.”

“And I want to see the ship, and I want to talk with your gul and crewmates to see that it should be a safe environment ...and know them a little too, so maybe we can have something to discuss when you’re home…” she hinted.

“I’m sure Meret wouldn’t mind; he brings his wife sometimes, though less often now that she’s gotten grandchildren to entertain her,” he mused at the last part, realizing awkwardly that Delna could’ve easily been his own child, and that she could’ve easily gifted him grandchildren by now. “Am I not too old for you?” he finally thought to ask, a bit cautiously.

“I think age is quite attractive, although I’ve never been with someone your age before,” she admitted and Sleen removed himself a little from the table, sipping on his beverage and trying to disappear into the background. Delna didn’t mind him, knowing he’d probably heard all sorts of things already and was bound by professional secrecy anyway. “My only concern is whether you can have sex at all or not,” she said in a lower voice so to be out of earshot from anyone who may come to their level of the teahouse (which was small and mostly deserted). “I know that there are men who aren’t attracted by women,” she implied Glain, “but I also know that there are people who aren’t attracted by anyone at all. Is that your case, Enjam?” she asked carefully, with the care of someone putting down their phaser in front of someone aiming at them with a rifle. “You wouldn’t be the first…”

Enjam glanced sidewise at Sleen before answering with a small nod.

“That would be... an accurate description,” he admitted, thankful for her discretion. “That doesn’t mean I am not going to fulfill my duty to the State, I know there are medical ways around my unfortunate condition, and I always thought, maybe, if I put effort in it and really  _ tried _ to court a woman, maybe it’d happen. So I thought, seeing as it is a primary goal at the time, I should focus on courting you so to pursue a functional... a functional sex life, as it were.” He cleared his throat a bit at the uncomfortable topic. “I don’t want to be a disappointment, and I understand others have this need that I lack, and I wouldn’t want to doom you to a life of boredom, even less so in your best years, I mean, look at you,” he made a small gesture to her, “you’re beautiful, and I’m useless.”

She made a sorry face, but a sympathetic one at that.

“Your Rokat…” she pronounced with great fondness, “you are  _ so _ proper. I’m afraid however that, unless there is a medical condition behind your lack of sexual drive, it will be very difficult for you to achieve a functional sexual life with me,” she informed him. “The reason isn’t that I don’t trust you would be capable of it – there  _ are _ ways to help intercourse. No, the reason is that I don’t want you to force yourself more than necessary, because I personally would feel like I would be abusing you, and this is the last thing I ever want to do to anyone,” she fished for his hand and squeezed his fingers with her own small ones. “You’re a handsome man, a good man, and I have absolutely no doubt that you are extremely smart and competent,” her blue eyes turned brighter and she squeezed his fingers a little more. “I would like to know if you would be opposed to me seeking comfort. Military men aren’t the only ones to need it…” she argued in a voice smaller even than her little hand clinging to his.

Enjam’s shoulders dropped a little at the last question. He couldn’t blame her for asking, but the question made it all the more obvious how incompetent he was – and this was yet another reason he’d tried to avoid this very situation. When it boiled down to it, his obsession with duty wouldn’t, perhaps, be such an obsession if there were other obsessions to compete.

“It wouldn’t be very orderly,” he tried to phrase himself without letting any emotion show through, “and I don’t think it would set a good example for the children – what would they think about it?” he wondered in an almost monotone voice, lowering his own eyes to look at their hands.

He didn’t want to trap her, but he couldn’t live in disorder either, and he knew those rumors would move quick enough to grow shadows behind his back, ready to overthrow him and blind him.

“It’s not disorderly if nobody knows,” she pointed. “I wouldn’t do anything to undermine my husband, but sexuality isn’t something I’ve ever done without, and I’ve managed to keep very discreet so far –” Sleen reacted slightly to that, curiosity shining in his eyes, but he quickly faded again – “If you can trust me as I trust you to return to me, always, I believe we could be a beautiful couple.”

“Hm,” Sleen reappeared, “I would like to say that,  _ as your family counselor _ , I need to point that comfort doesn’t count as infidelity in the eye of law  _ if _ it is included in the enjoinment contract that the spouse will be allowed to pursue sexual contact and intimate support from a licensed infertile worker. Of course, you, Enjam, as a military, already have this right for yourself,” he thought to specify the unequal footing.

“But I wouldn’t take advantage of that right, would I?” Enjam couldn’t help but to snark at Sleen, in part because he’d almost forgotten he was there, and in part because he was sad, and being sad made him short-tempered. He quickly deflated, however, as he realized his very obvious vulnerability in that outburst, not forgoing the fact that Delna would notice those things, given her profession. “ _ I _ don’t think it’s proper,” he thought he’d share his opinion, even if it was heavily influenced by other emotions, “and I wouldn’t want to be the husband whose wife had to-” he looked away hastily to hide the fact that  _ extremely unwelcome _ tears were now building up in his eyes.

Sleen quickly disappeared again to let Delna handle that.

“Alright,” she said. “I’m sorry, it was unfair of me to bring this up. Let us give ourselves some time to get to know each other better, to court and become more intimate. See how far that takes us, and how well it would work. I don’t think you’re too old for me, Your Rokat, but I do hope I’m not too young for you…”

“Then, may I suggest dinner together?” Enjam steeled himself, “I know this rather prestigious restaurant in Coranum – of course, they require formal wear, so I’d have to be out of uniform. I think you’d still recognize me,” he joked a little, but failed to laugh at his own jest, “if you need me to pay for a dress, just ask.”

“Ah, that’s very sweet of you to offer! Dresses is something I don’t lack however –  _ every time _ my father came back home, he’d buy me a dress; I believe that was his way to make penitence for his absence and general terrible parenting, and probably also to remind me that I’m a woman, in case I forgot,” she rolled her eyes. “ _ But _ I believe I wouldn’t mind to acquire one that wouldn’t be from him  _ if _ you’d come choose it with me. I believe there should be some tailors around here,” she suggested.

“Oh, yes, and there are some very good ones at that,” Sleen chimed, enthusiastically pointing at his own elegant getup. “I would greatly recommend Tebrak and Lukarias on the fifth street, and Kurana Vika on the seventh – that’s for women. On the sixth street you can find Sularin, for men,” he told with dark confidence. “Maybe you can find something for His Rokat too, there…”

Delna snickered at the daring but smiled brightly at Enjam.

“I’d love that!”

Enjam looked at Sleen accusatively, because he understood very well what had just happened, even though it had happened very quickly.

“Of course you would,” he said as he looked back at Delna and tried to look pleasant while eating what was left of his soup. “I guess, since I have nothing else to do, I may as well indulge you. It might even be fun, it’s...” he thinned his eyes and looked into the air slightly above him to fetch the right memory, “fifteen years since I bought my last formal wear,” he spotted the right occurrence. “It was when Glinn Farryl retired and Glinn Temet took his place – Temet is going to succeed Gul Meret once he steps down to go live on... whichever world he’ll fancy for the moment at that time, I guess – he literally  _ and _ figuratively hasn’t settled on one yet, only knows he isn’t going to live on Prime, because he hates the seasons – or rather, the lack of them,” he leaned forward in confidence. “For some reason, he likes snow. That’s one thing he and I will never agree on.”

“Oh, yes… I’ve seen snow on Bajor,” Delna lifted her cup and drank, “beautiful but deadly,” she agreed. “Although it  _ is _ quite amazing that it’s basically water which you can grab and shape with your hands. But past five minutes you can’t feel your fingers. I wouldn’t live on a place where there is snow for entire seasons. That’s at least one thing we agree on!” she giggled. “But really, Your Rokat, fifteen years? For all the respect I have for the military uniform, if you’re going to be my husband, you’re going to have to take it off some more, because I’m not going to flirt with a man in uniform:  _ that _ would be very disorderly and I could get reported for it! I want to kiss a man, not the entire State,” she chastised him.

“I told you not to come in uniform…” Sleen muttered to the military.

“But it’s part of me,” Enjam complained, almost like a child, then he caught himself at it and tried to look imposing to make up for it. “Besides, I am here to do my duty, and so is Delna – I think I’m appropriately clad for someone who goes where he is sent,” he nagged, “and comes in a timely fashion,” he added as an extra nag, then realized how improper and incorrect that sounded, and sighed through himself. “It’s not what I meant,” he added, annoyed at himself.

“Well, let’s see about timely  _ fashion  _ in those shops then,” Delna decided with a sententious glare (that still held some malice).

She finished her cup and so did Sleen.

“Well, I’ll let you two keep on with that argument, and I hope to hear some good news on our next meeting, Your Rokat,” the counselor grinned. “You’re doing very good; keep on this way!” he recommended and left.

Delna smiled at Enjam. She almost wanted to laugh, but it clearly wasn’t mocking; she felt quite happy.

“And I still think you’re wrong,” she stated. “You are your duty more than your uniform is. That you would identify your armor as being part of you is only the sign that you need it to compensate something, or maybe protect an old wound, uhm?” she made a guess. “But I promise you, Your Rokat, she got up and came closer, offering her hand to kindly help him up, “when you remove that armor, I’ll never approach you with ill intentions to hurt or destroy what lays underneath. Your brother once asked me why I chose to study medicine, and my answer was simply this: to heal,” she told. “He was good to me and I owe him more than I can ever repay. I owe Glain too. I hope I can bring you something… something warm and merry.”

Enjam felt a little pathetic, getting helped up by a woman who was practically a child, but it would be rude to ignore her hand, so he took it, even though he wouldn’t have had to. There, he stood for a moment still holding it, contemplating the words.

“I’d like you to know, I don’t blame you for what you did to Glain,” he finally chose to tell her, then made a more acceptable distance between them as he led the way out. “Your father... was un-Cardassian,” he aimed for diplomatic and rudely honest all at the same time. “I still sometimes wonder how he must have reacted to your failure to carry out his plan. With Glain, I mean.”

Delna braced herself and licked her lips before opting to answer.

“He did un-Cardassian things to me,” she told discreetly as they went down the stairs. She kept close to him, likely seeking for protection. “He forced me to carry out my orders with him and then, in the following months, he beat me often. Pretended he had no idea of my condition when…” she rested a hand on her belly, “It was all kept a secret, anyway. I couldn’t tell anyone, you know?” she seeked for his understanding, hoping he wouldn’t be entirely and utterly disgusted. “If you ask me, I hated him. Those feelings made me feel un-Cardassian for too long… He was the one who was flawed, and he should have died much sooner. I wish he’d died sooner… for Tovar and Glain’s sake.”

At first, Enjam’s brain refused to understand what she’d just told him – it was too much to take in at once, but when he did, he didn’t let his reaction show more than through a wince, one that she couldn’t see very well as she was walking slightly behind him. He let the topic rest for some strides, so that it wouldn’t still be red-hot by the time he picked it up again.

“You are very fond of my nephew, aren’t you?” he asked her softly, “Have you thought of talking to him again? I think perhaps you should; I don’t believe you harmed him nearly as much as you think – it’s not worse than what your father caused you to do to yourself. I wish I could say something better,” he added rather sorrily, “I took the extra trauma care classes at Bamarren, but those were for combat trauma, and it’s not exactly the same.”

“It’s very sweet of you to say,” she caught up with him and looked up at him – he was a fair bit taller than her. “I do like your nephew, Your Rokat. I truly did like him then, but we’ve grown since that time. I suppose I’ll ask him,” she considered, “but you won’t get rid of me so easily. Glain Rokat is a phenomenon of his own, and I don’t know if I’d be ready yet to handle that, as a wife and mother of his children,” she frowned. “I’d like a calmer life, and a husband who would be… less reckless.” She couldn’t help but snort in laughter at the realization: “I can’t believe the Conservator nephew is more reckless than the military uncle! But that’s a refreshing change in your favor,” she cooed and flickered blue eyes at him. “You’re an attractive man, Your Rokat.”

A slight darkness tinted Enjam’s neck – it didn’t have the sexual sensation that he’d learned other people associated with the blush, but it was there nonetheless.

“I thought you weren’t going to flirt with me when I’m wearing my armor?” he chastised her, albeit incredibly softly. “Glain is a good boy,” he thought to tell her as they entered the tailor shop – the one for men, “I love him like he were my own,” he said and paused. “I think my brother lied to him too,” he told her in a hushed voice, but something was haunting him, “unless it wasn’t a lie – because it certainly didn’t feel like one when I was there and he was insisting on going ahead recognizing her as his own when that would’ve devastated Glain – I told Nall that I would disassociate myself if he went ahead with it, and I invited my nephew to come live with me if things were to go this way, but he didn’t take me up on my offer,” he sighed and looked at Delna, who was small and lost amongst these male clothes. She had such beautiful, intelligent eyes. “What do you think, my dear?”

“I think you’re right,” she replied, appreciating his cleverness. “Nall had a drop in his career after that alien left and his assignment ended. He’s always been sentimental, hasn’t he? So I think you’re right. I think he lied. I think both he and your father had a relationship with that alien, and your brother never knew he hadn’t been the only one in the game,” she shared her opinion while looking at the clothes around them, feeling the textures of the colors she liked. “I would believe Melekor was the one who didn’t play fair. One time that I came to visit your home, back when I was just sixteen, I had put on a rather alluring dress. Glain was completely oblivious to it, of course, but your father stole some glances of me that an enjoined man probably shouldn’t have. I wasn’t too surprised to learn he’d been unfaithful. What do you think?” she pulled out a tunic of a steel blue color, with black sleeves and subtle shimmering gold patterns printed on the different fabrics, more copper on the blue, and reminiscent of waves. The collar was wide and revealing, but the cut was elegant and still rather strict. She thought he might like it.

Enjam looked at the tunic with mild embarrassment.

“You’re very observant,” he commented, though it was obvious he wasn’t referring to the tunic. “It’s very colorful,” or at least it was by  _ his _ standards, and he  _ was _ the sort who preferred the silvers, the greys and the blacks, “and not very discreet,” he added with a bit of a look around. “That alien can’t have been the first my father had his way with – we used to have a housekeeper, before Keelani, she quit very suddenly after just two years. Because she got pregnant,” he remembered. “I was eight,” he continued with a small smile, “so I don’t remember a lot, not really. But I’m pretty sure she wasn’t enjoined, that girl – because she was a girl. I think not older than eighteen, possibly younger – but the step from that to having an affair with an alien...! And then my  _ brother _ too...” he blushed a bit and took the tunic, but only to put it back, “I guess it’s not her fault how she was conceived.”

“Your step-sister?” Delna asked and took the tunic back, putting it across her arm with the firm intention to gather a number of clothes for Enjam to try on. “Have you met her? I mean, before the trial?” she specified, still going through the clothes.

“Yes, briefly,” mumbled Enjam as he reviewed the memory, “it wasn’t exactly a civilized encounter,” he turned to look at what she was showing him – a storm gray tunic, with a pale V lining on the front, which wings spread along the sleeves. The fabric was soft, with delicate folds, like ripples on the sides. A subtle touch, very trendy. The neckline wasn’t as revealing as the previous one, and the shape was more intricate, with smaller Vs – “I like that one better,” he approved, touching the fabric with some appreciation before continuing: “It went as you would expect – I threatened to get rid of her, she threatened to send her lover’s family after me if I tried anything, so, ah, we ended up on equal footing in the end, I suppose,” he smiled a little awkwardly. “She’s enjoining into the Dain family. I expect I’ll be invited to the ceremony.”

Delna laughed joyfully at that.

“Then definitely something more colorful than this one; you can’t go to an enjoinment ceremony dressed like you’re coming to a burial! But you can always buy more than one if you like this one so much… you’re going to need a full closet after all,” she winked and went on to look through the clothes. “What are they, the Dain? Doctors? I remember a Dain, when I was at the Institute; most everybody knew him, poor boy. He had Tevak’s syndrome, I believe; something that gave him very impressive scales. We sometimes went to Sidjartan on the same transport, to take the law cursus; he wanted to become a Notator, but I don’t know if he ever did considering it must have been about impossible to find a position with those scales of his,” she pinched her lip and put the tunics in Enjam’s arms so she could pull two more ones: a black one that had a very sexy cut and fabrics of different textures to add subtlety to it, and a one combining shimmering dark purple and golden amber colors with black patterns printed on; most exquisite and bold (although she knew Enjam wouldn’t like it).

“That’s the one she’s enjoining. Sokal Dain,” Enjam thought to tell her, then looked at her new suggestions, left side of his eyeridge twitching a bit. “The rest of them work for the Ministry or State Intelligence,” he continued as he prodded the shamelessly colorful one with a finger, “interrogators, all of them,” he added with a bit of a dismissal. “I’ll try that one, but don’t laugh at me when I end up looking outrageous. I’m not here for amusement of that sort.”

“I think you’ll look outrageous in a way I can appreciate,” she grinned maliciously and went over to try and find some matching pairs of pants for the various tunics. “Very interesting that a half-Betazoid would enjoin such a family. It must make interrogations faster if you can just read people’s minds, or make them want to talk. Do you think she was recruited?” she showed a pair of dark grey pants and quickly added a pair of copper ones. What else? Maybe there were some nice jackets to explore? she looked around and went toward the shelves.

“I hope not,” Enjam realized with a flicker of worry, “considering I threatened her,” he added as he tagged along and looked at the many clothes around him. He felt like he was delving deeper and deeper into a jungle he didn’t belong in, and worried that the shopkeeper might appear out of nowhere to spot his intrusion and mock him. “She should understand I was only trying to protect my family,” he reasoned to himself, “she was an intruder, and my brother had lost his mind, choosing her above Glain, his own son. He should be ashamed of himself.”

“That, he should,” Delna absolutely agreed. “But don’t worry, for one, she didn’t strike me as aggressive and vengeful toward you, and for two, you can threaten those people and get away with it sometimes. I have,” she turned to him with a malicious smile. “It’s all a matter of context, of course, and a lot is up to the person you’re facing,” she reckoned and picked a jacket with long dark sleeves and colorful bodice, deep red with subtle streaks of orange and black, discreetly bedecked with dark grays bearing contrasting blue and green hues. She figured it’d go well with the snug black tunic, and decided to pick another jacket as well, which cut was very reminiscent of Enjam’s armor. The front featured a V shape on either sides of the zipper in the middle, and the fabric there had beautiful studs of copper on the dark grey fabric. “I think we can try this out for a start,” she smiled and led him to the changing room.

Enjam was sure that at this point that he didn’t even have to say what he thought of that awfully colorful jacket, so he simply followed Delna and figured he’d at least indulge her in trying it, but that he certainly wouldn’t buy it.

“I assume you’ll want to review each outfit?” he made sure to ask, though he knew the answer already. Of course she did.

 

The changing boot was small and awkward for a man who had to take off his armor – people,  _ normal people _ , Enjam guessed, didn’t exactly wear their military outfit to their shopping rounds. With some struggle, he managed to get out of all his clothes, and just as swiftly hid himself on the more ghastly options available – it felt like he was barely wearing anything at all, but it certainly looked like he was.

“I can’t show you this,” he told in dismay as he looked at his own reflection, “I look like, like, like an artist, or something else equally as flimsy.”

She giggled at that.

“Oh, come on, Your Rokat, I trust you to defend Cardassia, so try to trust me a little not to attack you when you’re vulnerable. I promised you,” she reminded him. “I know it’s bound to be a little unsettling, but on the upside, if me putting clothes on you makes you so uneasy, maybe that’ll ease the moment when I’ll take them  _ off _ of you…” she suggested. “Now, open that door and let me see. There’s nobody looking but me,” she assured.

“It’s not an attack I’m wary of, it’s my dignity,” answered Enjam and, to his horror, saw in the mirror that not only was he dressed in all these ghastly colors, he was also blushing and visibly distressed.

Defiant against himself, he opened the door at last and turned to Delna in an attempt to look proper, even though he felt like a part of him was slowly dying.

“I feel absurd.”

She was surprised.

“I’m impressed,” she admitted, “I didn’t think you’d have the courage to start with the most colorful ones – all of them,” she noted as she shamelessly opened the black and red jacket to find the dark purple and amber tunic underneath. Of course, he’d picked the copper pants too.

“It’s not courage, it’s a deep and sincere wish to hurry from what’s unpleasant onto what’s a little bit more familiar and acceptable,” he thought to clarify, although really, he should’ve pretended to be courageous rather than logical.

Still, he let her do, and watched himself in the mirror as she freed him from the jacket and left him even more exposed than before. It really felt intimidating to have  _ nothing _ covering up his chest.

“See, I think this tunic doesn’t need to have a jacket on top. And if you feel like it’s too much color, you can swap for the gray pants, but I think this shade of copper fits nicely with the colors of the tunic. It’s a nice and cheerful getup, and I think you should have it,” she said, standing in his back, and rested her hands on his hips as to weigh her words. She let them slip more in the front to pull at the tunic and adjust it some more before putting her hands on the sides of his waist. “You’re quite handsome, Your Rokat.”

The outfit was very handsome and cheery, she was right in that. But was  _ he _ handsome and cheery?

“Maybe I could wear it for her ceremony,” it’d be  _ the only time _ he’d ever wear it, he was certain of it, “not that I know of a date yet, but I  _ am _ her brother, and it would be very strange of her not to invite me,” he fingered the edges of his sleeves a little and looked at her hands against the fabric, then smiled a little. “Perhaps I should ask Glain and his friend to make you a hologram for me?” he suggested, which came out as a joke, even though he’d intended it to be an honest proposition.

Delna couldn’t help but snort in laughter.

“So I can comfort myself when you’re not there or dress your image with clothes? Oh, dear Cardassia,  _ that _ would be disorderly,” she shook her head and squeezed his waist a bit to feel the muscles there, beneath the fabric. “It wouldn’t be the same, and I honestly feel like it would be abusive – yes, my standards start very low, but that’s how it is. And no, what I’m doing to you isn’t abusive, I’m only helping you out of your shell a little, and I think you’re doing great and look very dashing in those clothes. Now, try the gray tunic and the other jacket,” she ordered him.

“Usually when things get taken out of their shell, it is because whoever took them out of there wants to eat them,” Enjam cared to share his opinion to her as he disappeared back into the room.

He switched things around – the pants too. Getting back into the near-monochromes was a great relief for him, and the relief was instantaneous – he might even consider himself representable in these. So, he exited with a more delighted expression – “Better, isn’t it?”

“I could  _ eat _ you,” she grinned in approval. “To think you first wanted to discard this beautiful tunic… Your Rokat, I  _ knew _ you would look splendid in it. See, this shade of blue makes for a very nice contrast with your eyes and enhances their color, making them more vibrant,” she explained. “It also fits very well with the the copper studs of the jacket, and would have complemented nicely with the copper pants – you should try them sometimes when you’re feeling less broody,” she smirked maliciously, then looked at him and blushed a little, because he did look all the more handsome  _ and accessible _ in those clothes. “Try the black tunic, with this jacket too,” she recommended.

Enjam silently did as Delna wished, disappearing into the room, changing and reappearing. He tried not to think about cannibalism too much, instead turning around on the spot to let her get a better view of all the various seams.

“I still prefer my armor,” he made sure to inform her, in case she was imagining that he’d somehow retreat entirely from what was practically his second skin, “it is where I spend most of my life, and what you should appreciate the most.  _ A man shouldering the safety of the Union is the only true beauty – except compared to that of a woman _ ,” the quote was from a book; he  _ thought _ it might be one of those inspirational autobiographies Gul Meret had made him read, possibly the one that was about the Gul’s own grandfather.

“Words of a closeted gul if I ever heard some; if you don’t want people to believe you to be in the same predicament as your nephew, you probably should quote more normative figures,” she nodded with such a sweet smile that it probably took too long for Enjam to figure out what that really meant. She didn’t give him a chance to comment however: “Let’s make this clear. You prefer your armor and I prefer clothes. When we’re on your ship, you’ll be free to make me wear absolutely anything your heart desire, including the sort of military getup wives are allowed to wear for representation,” she let him guess that she wasn’t fond of them, “but when you’re on Cardassia, with me, I want a  _ husband _ and I want him with me, not half-way on his ship and drowned in his duty. I don’t make myself pretty like this for work, you know? I don’t wear this kind of dress, I don’t dress my hair so elaborately and I don’t do my makeup as sexily,” she gestured at the delicate blue on her neckscales, which was getting tickled by a luscious strand of hair. “It would disturb my clients and that wouldn’t be very productive. I did this for you, and also for me,” she quickly added before he could say something like ‘ _ but you don’t have to _ .’ Oh,  _ men _ …

“I  _ have to _ , because I came to court you, Your Rokat, and if I’m going to be your wife, I want to be representative. I want to be beautiful for you, so people can know how much I care for your image, our image,” she touched the studs of the jacket and opened it slowly to see the snug tunic underneath, and how it wrapped around the man’s muscular body.

“I know you’ve embraced your duty for over forty years, but now it’s time to surrender to Cardassia. Not Central Command.  _ Cardassia _ . You’re going to be a husband and a father. When you’re home, I will  _ not _ see a military in armor patrolling around,” she said very clearly while tracing the line of his abs. “I’m fine seeing the lots of you outside, where you ought to be, but when you step inside…” she opened her handbag to take something out of it, “...I expect you to be out of your armor, least I’ll have to welcome you with this,” she drew a phaser out of her bag and pressed it against the man’s abdomen. “If I must, I’ll stun you and undress you myself,” she said with bold confidence, then withdrew the weapon and smiled with soft blue eyes.

Enjam looked at the phaser and swallowed with a mild smile. He wasn’t sure she had a permit nor a license, but those were things he planned on looking up once they parted ways.

“We should add that to the contract,” he settled the matter in confidence, “so that you won’t get arrested for assaulting a man of the military, in case your finger should slip.” He paused. “Is it something you’d like to do to a man?” he had to ask, not entirely understanding the rules of the game, “I could indulge you, if it is what you want.”

That was a kinky proposition she hadn’t expected from him.

“Careful with those words, I could take you up on that one,” she made the phaser disappear in her bag again. “Is it something you’d like, Your Rokat?” she laid her hands on the soft, black tunic, “To be subdued by a woman?”

The conversation had turned into something he couldn’t really handle, and the place wasn’t one he would’ve chosen for such a strange endeavour in intimacy. He decided to lay his hands on her upper arms, touching her so lightly he might not touch her at all.

“I think I’ll buy this set, and the other, for the wedding,” he told her in the most gentle voice he could manage. “The cut is to my liking, and since you approve, I see no reason why I should deny you the pleasure of seeing me dressed like that – although, I would need to go put my armor back on before someone thinks I’m being sloppy.”

“Why don’t you rather call one of your underlings to ask for transport of your armor to your quarters and continue the day with those clothes?” she suggested. “I know you can,” she added, because she wasn’t going to be bullshitted otherwise.

The military’s eyes widened at once.

“That would be disorderly, and they’d _ know _ ,” he added urgently, as if it was some sort of very filthy secret that he was finally looking for a wife like Central Command had bothered him to do for years already.

“Know what? Oh, of course!” she feigned stupidity and went into the cabin, “But you’re not  _ naked _ , and if you’re worried they’d think so, I can call Gul Meret,” she grabbed his combracelet and started to dial the general command to address a superior.

“Delna Reyal to Gul Meret,” she introduced herself as the signal was picked very fast, “may I request the gear transportation of  _ His _ Enjam Rokat, who stands formally clothed by my side? We are in Torr. On a date.”

Enjam had to sit on the little stool in the corner of the booth, too flustered to object to anything. There was a moment’s silence on the other end, and he was positive he could hear something akin to a hushed laughter.

“ _ I need him to verify that _ ,” there was no mistake, Meret’s voice was full of  _ something _ , and it made Enjam want to disappear – he couldn’t though, and he had to verify, or else he’d put Delna in trouble for using his equipment.

“I verify,” he cleared his voice, as it had cracked a bit and become inaudible, “I mean, you can do as she says.”

“ _ Verification accepted _ ,” sung Meret, “ _ and Rokat? Enjoy your date _ ,” he added before the line was closed and the armour vanished – he got to keep the communicator, however, as protocol would have him keep it in case of emergency.

Not that such usually happened close to Prime.

“Now he’s going to have indecent thoughts about me,” complained Enjam, torn between frustration and a solemn wish not to get into an argument with Delna just yet – it  _ could _ be taken the wrong way, and he was aware of that.

“I don’t think he will; what we’re doing is normal and Cardassian,” she reassured him as she gave him his communicator back. “Or maybe you’re the one who’d like him to have indecent thoughts about you? Because I really can’t see  _ why _ he would have any. Or are you very embarrassed about my young age?” she worried a little.

“He will think that we’ve been matched up by Central Command,” he explained factually, and clasped the communicator around his wrist; the weight was reassuring and it stilled him a little. “He won’t know you’re below thirty unless he looks you up – he probably will. It’s my reputation that concerns me,” he added wearily, “or rather, my identity,” he questioned himself a little. He’d hung a lot on his armor, even his lack of sexual interests – to venture outside of it was to venture outside the familiar. “He might find the behavior to be unusual for me, and unusual things are disorderly by definition, so he might consider it a bit unpleasant and maybe frightening, and then the instinct to rectify what isn’t normal kicks in.”

She stiffened a little because she was trying really hard not to laugh, and then managed to soften into compassion while picking the clothes he’d hung on the rack, appreciating that he’d clasped them as they were before trying them.

“Your Rokat, if you’re concerned about your reputation, you should stop worrying about courting me, unless you want someone to write a biography of Gul Meret in which it is suggested that you were socially confused and possibly infatuated with him…” she said carefully. “And I think he would be more concerned about this than about you finally starting to court women.”

“But I would never!” burst Enjam, then he hurriedly added, “Court men, I mean – I am not disorderly, merely... a bit flawed,” he felt his neck and cheeks heat with embarrassment, and got up from the chair so to regain his proud posture. “We should go pay for these, and then find a dress for you. You should tell me which colors you prefer, so I can keep this in mind while assisting you.”

She smiled pleasantly and let the both of them walk toward the counter.

“That’s a thoughtful sentiment,” she appreciated. “I like blues and oranges that go with my eyes, but I think it would be nice to find something that matches well with the clothes you’ll be wearing at the ceremony. And then, if you feel like spoiling the both of us a little, maybe you could choose something you like on me,” she suggested and let him pay, insistently putting  _ all _ of the clothes on the counter.

“Why would I choose something I wouldn’t like on you?” Enjam asked confusedly as he just paid the cashier with his thumbprint, while at the same time wincing at the price. “I’m glad I don’t buy clothes often,” he remarked, “I could’ve bought so much cat food for that.”

Whether the cashier was more offended or amused was hard to say, but Delna served both men a sententious glare either way.

“I think you have too much money and not enough use for it anyway,” she let Enjam carry the bag and led the way out. “Although, it’ll come handy to pay studies for the children. I’d like to have several,” she said. “I think it’s nice to have siblings.”

Enjam hummed at that and took a firmer hold on his bag as he kept up with her.

“I think I should do well in that regard: father managed to breed the five of us, which was rather a feat back then,” he smiled into the soft breeze. “Of course, he made up for his productivity later on, and now it’s just me and Nall,” he took a breath of the soft air and managed to keep a strict expression despite the memories he’d decided to touch at.

“Zetik and Zylesta both went to Bamarren like me. Poor Meridine would’ve gone there as well, if father hadn’t decided that he didn’t want any more militaries in the house. So she became a tailor instead,” he looked down at the bag in his arms. “She enjoined into the Gevram family to get away from us; father didn’t want us to have much contact after that. But she had three children, so her fertility was good,” he refrained from mentioning all the death.

Delna knew of it, and she knew of Zetik and Zylesta too; her father had often mumbled about the Rokat family, especially everything bad about it.

“I’d like to maintain the intellectual fiber of the Rokat family,” she decided to tell. “I think it would be nice for our children to go primarily into law or medicine, because Cardassia needs those. Medicine especially. With the  _ Bajor colony _ ,” she said the word in a lower voice since it had become an unwelcome topic to discuss, “a lot of good young men have lost their way – men like my father, who went there and came back changed, and not in a good way. And with all the tension in the DMZ, some predictions are leaning toward more war. This will mean more good soldiers who will need care. And even without war, the general health on Cardassia has been decreasing during the last twenty years, and we need doctors to fight against this,” she argued. “Of course, if some of our children would like to follow your tracks, that would only be fair,” she smiled agreeably. “But may I ask you, why did you go to Bamarren and not Dekaris? Do you have a lot to do with intelligence in your work? Interrogations?” she asked with genuine interest and curiosity, because she actually didn’t really know what Enjam was doing on that ship in space.

“Those skills aid me as Glinn, and in my contacts with Central Command – typically, glinns come in pairs: one from Dekaris, one from Bamarren, and they both serve different purposes to their gul,” he reasoned, without going into much depth about his own expertise. “But that’s not why I went to Bamarren: I went there because it’s more remote and has less holidays, which I figured would assist better in turning me into an adult. Had I opted to go to Dekaris, I would’ve likely been offered to stay at home with my parents to save resources and offer better housing for those who come from far away, or were recruited from youth centers,” Enjam smiled a little at that and glanced sidewise at Delna. “That, and Melekor favoured the intellectual approach to a military career rather than the more blunt tools of the Dekaris students. It wasn’t hard to convince him to choose the right option.”

“You didn’t want to be around him,” she figured. “I don’t blame you. I wanted to study in Culat, but my mother wanted to keep me close; I think she didn’t want to be completely abandoned, and I can understand that too. It was good that I could be there for her after Tovar was tried. We were her only two children as she’d become infertile after her ah… ‘accident’ if it can be called that,” she winced. “But  _ so _ , what you really mean,” she returned to the previous topic, “is that out of Gul Meret’s glinns, I get to be with the more intelligent and intellectual one?” she grinned at him. “I like that,” she commented as they entered the Lukarias shop of the fifth street. It was trendy and cheerful inside.

“It’s not how I meant it!” realized Enjam, offended by himself, “Glinn Temet is highly intelligent and I wouldn’t want anyone to think poorly of him. After all, he is to become my superior one day,” he boasted a bit, even though he wasn’t sure if it was something to boast about, since it was just how things were.

He stopped a bit as he noted how the new place really was a very different shop compared the previous one, most notably in that female clothing seemed to allow for mostly brighter hues – a lot of it designed with highlights in brilliant blue that would match with a decorated chufa or neck, elegant and shameless at the same time. He set to browsing some racks rather cluelessly, finding that he thought a lot of these dresses would look absolutely stunning – on Keelani.

“Is this really what’s fashionable?” he asked as he lifted out a particularly shameless dress which he was sure the housekeeper would’ve loved to put on, “It looks like something a mother would wear,” he added with frustration, then realized there was a pregnant woman on the other side of the stand, and wished he could sink right through the floor into the ground, never to emerge again. “No offense to anyone,” he made sure to add awkwardly as he hung the dress back where he’d taken it.

Delna tried not to laugh at him again, but she found him really cute in his awkwardness.

“That was an interesting statement,” she said diplomatically. “Maybe I should try one like that, but dark purple, to match with your clothes,” she searched for a color variation of the model. “So, Your Rokat, would you like me to look more like a mother? Or are you eager to make me into one?”

“I believe that this entire shop, despite being a tailor shop, is entirely unfit to appreciate the pretty weave of words you spun just then,” Enjam chastised her while looking around in paranoia that someone would be listening and draw undue, or perhaps  _ too due, _ conclusions. “And no, I’d like you to look like a happy young lady, because that is what you are,” he added with some urgency. “We might be brought together by our common sense of duty; that doesn’t negate that we are who we individually are, and I’d like you to live your life as a person, not acting out a role like you’re a dessert to order at a restaurant,” he looked at the dress she’d finally found. “I’m afraid that all I’d be able to think of when seeing you in that cut, would be my brother’s housekeeper, Keelani – she’s a pleasant woman, but she isn’t you.”

Delna quickly put the dress back in the rack with a slight “ew” expression.

“A cheerful person too, as far as I remember her, but indeed, that would be improper,” she agreed, opting not to inquire if Enjam had further feelings for her maybe. Some questions were better left unasked. “So,” she changed the topic entirely and took them to another alley, “I’ve been wondering, why is Temet the one who’s going to follow in Meret’s position? You very much have no desire to become a gul, do you? And who shall replace him as glinn, then?” She found a dress of amber color that she quite liked. It was a bit outrageous, with a high collar cut on the sides just to reveal the neckscales, and a free-flowing skirt falling just above the knee. The sleeves were very short, so she figured she would have to wear a jacket and leggings to be less outrageous, but kept on browsing the dresses and tunics.

“Central Command will appoint someone,” Enjam answered the last question as an efficient way to avoid the first two. “That one is a bit childish,” he commented on the dress she’d picked.

He hadn’t really put any value into the choice of word, and found that he didn’t exactly mind – in his eyes, Delna was more a child than an adult, albeit a rather disorderly child. Silently, he snuck away to another stand, to browse a set of dresses that were decidedly darker, and more military in the cut – except they were very obviously not formal wear, considering that they had cut outs on the shoulders and across the chest, clearly planted there to display signs of femininity, and the chest crest to which some women enjoyed applying makeup. He found that he especially liked the dress that turned out to be the most expensive of them: dark, almost black, all seams were lined with thin black leather strips, and it would’ve been gloomy if it hadn’t been for the almost glowing orange details in a different material – some sort of iridescent silk – sewn into aesthetically strategical places. Presumably they’d enhance the waist of the woman wearing it, as well as the shape of her lower back, and what was beneath. The dress part itself fell rather far down, and Enjam had no reason to believe that this could be seen as a rather provocative design, although undeniably elegant.

“I like this one,” he concluded as he’d watched the seams a bit closer.

“Then I’ll try it,” Delna picked a model of her size. She didn’t mind wearing something provocative if Enjam liked it. Her relation to her body and her clothes was maybe a bit closer to something a comfort woman could relate to.

“Let’s see if we can find something like this with just a little more color,” she smiled. “Aren’t you afraid that relations between you and Temet might change when he gets to outrank you? Such things aren’t uncommon,” she said while hunting.

“Of course it will change,” Enjam followed her deeper into the shop, headed for the softer pastel colors of the collection, “he will go from being my equal to being my superior, but my loyalty to him will remain the same – unwavering,” he thought of Temet in the Gul’s chair, and felt a bit of warmth inside, because he knew the ship would get the commander it deserved. “He’s a kind man – a bit unorthodox sometimes,” he added with a bit of a shrug, “but I think he’ll do well in the position, and I’ll gladly go where he’ll send me – this one,” he pointed at a softly blue garment that had more folds and something reminiscent to frills.

Unlike the dark one, this one played on the borderline between girl and young woman, which Enjam couldn’t know, nor that it might be a bit disorderly for him to suggest to  _ his potential wife _ .

“It’s very cute,” he cooed as he took it off of the rack, thankfully unaware that a woman further behind him in the shop was looking at him like he was some sort of complete pervert.

“It very much is,” Delna approved, taking the dress to better look at it, “but I think it’s maybe something better fit for a daughter,” she hinted and put it back. “This one would be maybe more fitting for a young wife,” she took a pale amber dress (she was still trying to find matching clothes).

It had a wide collar revealing the entire shoulders and some frills there too, which came over the chest to entwine there like huggly wings. The amber fabric was cut intricately to reveal triangles of a more vibrant purple with flimsier shimmering patterns, enhancing the slimness of the waist and falling down as a more girly skirt, cute and fresh. She turned the dress to look at the back, where the lowest fold of the frills turned into an arrow running down the spine to guide the eyes down the rump. “It’s very soft too,” she touched the thin purple material. The yellow one was a bit thicker, but pleasant too, with a peachy feeling.

Enjam joined her in touching the fabric, humming in appreciation.

“That’s a very nice texture,” he commented, already trying to imagine what it’d feel like to touch when the dress was worn, “you should try it,” he urged her a little, “I think it’ll look most tasteful on you.”

She smiled brightly.

“I’m glad to see you so enthused,” she chirped and laid the dress across her arm. “I’ll need leggings,” she said, leading them to the section where those could be found, “I don’t have purple ones. I think dark purple ones would be good to go with any of those dresses,” she told, searching for the right shade. Those were much easier to pick, and it didn’t take long to find a match.

They went to the changing booth and she started with the leggings and the soft dress. She made sure it was adjusted properly and found herself pretty, elegant and rather sexy at the same time, which was quite a mix.

“What do you think?” she asked as she came out, twirling on spot a little to let the fabric flow around her legs.

He watched her enjoyment in appreciative silence, then went to take her hands in his own to lift them to his lips.

“You look beautiful,” he told her, because it was the only proper thing to ever say to a woman, and it also happened to be the truth.

“And can you dance, Your Rokat?” she asked, cheeky.

“You wish to dance here?” he asked further with a small smile. “I can dance,” he added softly, “I took the extra class at Bamarren – yes, there was a class in dancing. And we all took it because it was an excuse to finally spend some time with the women of the Institute. It’s important to be able to handle all levels of social life when you’re in a high strategic position,” he didn’t mean it as bragging, although he was a bit concerned it might have come out that way. “If you wish to lead me, I will follow your orders to the letter.”

Delna blushed but didn’t back off.

“I ignored you were such a romantic,” she set a hand on his hip and let him place his on her shoulder, which was more at reach. “I do need to know if this dress is fit for dancing, and if you are at least as good as your nephew,” she smiled and started to sway, guiding them both.

The other clients diverted their eyes, except for some children who were very interested to look.

“He and I went to my Institute’s bal together once, and it’s a dear memory to me,” she shared. “I believe he was genuinely happy that night,” she smiled. “I hope I can make you happy like this too.”

Enjam took pride in his ability to perform physical tasks, and this was no different from the skills in martial arts that he possessed. True, it was a lot more submissive and subtle, but it still involved coordination and an aptitude in reading another’s body language. As such, he followed Delna’s lead like water to gravity. An harmonious moment of coexistence seeped between them, and everything else became faded and distant.

“You lead well,” he complimented her as their embrace turned into something a little less decent, in part because he’d found it pleasurable to touch the fabric of the dress, and then his hand had wandered down and into the folds, playing with the tactile stimulation there.

“You follow just as well,” she set her eyes in his own brown ones. “I’m glad you’re so talented… I’m starting to look forward to dancing with you at your sister’s joining. We’re going to cause some surprise, isn’t it?” she moved her head to let her neckscales dance too, and her stray strand of hair caressed them.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” murmured Enjam as he moved with her, starting to understand her more by each move, “To catch everyone by surprise, to steal the spotlight, at least for a moment... it’s very disorderly,” he added, though it sounded more like a compliment – he was being disorderly too, at least right then, and he knew he should stop, before they’d get interrupted by the shopkeeper.

He was fairly sure Gul Meret wouldn’t find it very funny if  _ his _ Glinn got a reprimand for disruptive courting.

“If your sister is enjoining Sokal Dain, then he owes me that – he did steal a dance from a boy I was courting then, and made him dance better even than I did,” she said. “It was stunning  _ and _ disorderly. I think they might have been luzzurs,” she giggled and came to a stop just as the shopkeeper was about to get up from her seat behind the counter. “I want this dress, Your Rokat, and I want to wear it at the wedding and dance with you. But I also want to try the other ones!” she added more childishly and escaped him to get back in the booth.

There, she put on the other amber dress, which fit nicely but oddly ended up looking a lot more proper than she’d expected, so she said she liked it but not enough to want it, and went on to try the black dress. As she looked herself in the mirror, she arranged her hair a little more as well to appear just a little stricter, to fit with the clothes, and came out with a harder expression, like that of an Archon.

“How does this one fit, Your Rokat?” she asked with a luscious voice.

Enjam, who hadn’t expected the change in expression nor hairstyle, only barely managed to conceal his surprise.

“Very attractive,” he looked her over with an appreciative look, “it fits you extremely well, as does that attitude,” he added with admiration. “Would it be too bold for me to ask you to entertain my simple wish to share dinner with you in this dress?” He repeated the sentence in his mind and decided to pretend he’d realized it could be interpreted even more indecently.

“You can never get too bold around me, Your Rokat,” she smiled cunningly. “I believe we’re done here then. If you’ll pay, I believe I know of a very nice restaurant in East Torr where we could stop next,” she let him follow up with this order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	29. III - A will to beat all odds

#  A will to beat all odds

It did feel great for Delna to have a military at her own service, and such an elegant one at that. As they walked out the tailor shop, with Enjam carrying their bags, she couldn’t help but keep on stealing glances of him. She realized he too was looking at her in this way and there was an awkward silence as they walked, although it wasn’t unpleasant as they both knew of each other’s liking.

“I hadn’t expected things to go this well,” she finally said. “I hope you don’t take it bad, of course… but I guess the odds weren’t exactly in our favor, is what I mean,” she made up for the more awkward start.

“I hope you’re not disappointed that I’m not putting up more of a challenge,” Enjam suggested as an invitation for her to tell him to make himself harder to catch. “It is my duty to Cardassia to pursue you to the best of my efforts, and it’s a very serious matter to me,” he looked at her with a bit of contemplation. “I hope it is to you, too.”

“Oh, it is, and I hope you appreciate the fight I put up against your armor,” she taunted him a bit. She wasn’t going to forgive that one anytime soon. “For a military, you do have talents at courting… It’s all the more impressive considering your unenjoined state, so tell me, how do you achieve this? You must have practiced,” she almost accused.

“Of course I have, long ago,” Enjam answered calmly. “Institute years,” he added with a cheeky smile. “Back then, it was possible to get away with romance without delving into... procreative activities,” he blushed a bit, even though he didn’t really find the topic to be much embarrassing, only uncomfortable. “Girls only really started to find my lack of arousal to be an offense once it became more evident that I was well into puberty. One whom I was courting, got so upset that she psyched her older brothers on me – she genuinely thought I’d been leading her on to make a fool out of her, and she refused to believe that I had any sort of affection for her. My heart wasn’t the only thing broken,” he was thankful for the bags he was carrying, or he would’ve likely rubbed his left arm and neck. “I didn’t even muster the spirit to get back on them, I guess I felt guilty. Maybe she was right,” he added more glumly, “maybe what I felt didn’t qualify, maybe it’s not what other people call love. I guess someone like me, I’ll never know for certain – I’m sorry,” he added as he realized how the topic had gotten uncomfortably centered around him, “it’s not relevant, anyway; it’s such a long time ago now.”

“I think it’s relevant,” Delna answered. “Did you know that in a previous regime, well over five centuries ago from now, a male who seeked to enjoin had to prove his love by ceasing all sexual activity? Of course, from our current culture, it sounds absolutely ridiculous, but back then, it was a proof of devotion coming from the heart, in opposition to lust coming from the flesh.” She shrugged, “Admittedly, some say that this is the very reason that one regime lasted for only half a century, and that might even be partially true,  _ but _ I guess it would be just as biased of us to think that love cannot exist without lust. I think there’s even nothing wrong about being in love without sharing physical intimacy. Some would say that this cannot be between shamars, that it’s luzzurhood, but I disagree. I’ve seen a lot of situations in my work. In social services, I get to hear about people’s romantic and sexual issues a lot,” she chuckled. “For one, I can assure you that you’re not the only one like this, and for two, there are some medical examinations I could conduct to see if there’s any dysfunction that could explain it. And if all comes back negative, then it’s good news: you’re fine. Because that’s what it really is, Your Rokat. It’s fine, and I believe we could even still share sexual intimacy if we can discuss it enough, to be certain that we don’t end up forcing anything we don’t wish for,” she gently grabbed his arm. “One thing’s certain; you’re easy to love, and all the women who couldn’t go past their own lust and their misplaced egos must have been missing quite a romance. I’m both amazed and a bit sad that none of them could be wiser, and kinder.”

“They were young,” Enjam defended them sorrily, “and scared of rejection. That’s how those years were, passionate and full of a desire to be desired. I wouldn’t know how a more mature woman would’ve handled it, because I stopped trying after that – getting my head nearly snapped off of my neck wasn’t something I wanted a repeat experience of,” he explained with a malplaced chuckle, “but it’s not as if it was a huge loss for me. Once I started my service in the military, then that was all the stimulation and passion I ever needed. I could make love to Cardassia, I was allowed to give, and what I gave was valued by those around me, and by the State,” he smiled into the breeze, welcoming  the soft, warm scents of flowers around them. “I felt so accepted, so much a part of something whole. It filled me with purpose,” he inhaled the evening and looked at her. “I hope your profession brings you this same sense of belonging. It might not heal all wounds, but it makes you forget.”

“It does,” she agreed, slightly mesmerized by his speech. “You should become a gul too when Meret retires. You might not realize it, but you would do great in command. You would be this kind of caring man the military greatly needs in higher positions, to inspire generations of young men and set them on the right path. When I listen to you, it gives me hope for the future,” she took the bag between them off his hand so she could entwine arms and fingers with him as they entered the transport station to East Torr. “Have you never considered it this way? How much Cardassia could use you as a gul?”

Enjam shook his head to that and squeezed her small hand in his, gently of course – he was warm, she was slightly less so, and he hoped he might be calming, somehow.

“I did, but I’m part of the Rokat family,” he told as his voice grew more husky and discreet. “My father at his height, was one of the most impressive, and long-lived Conservators. A lot of people bore ill feelings toward him. I knew that with each and every military trial he committed, the less popular I’d be if I were Gul. Oh,” he shook his head with a laughter, “I’d be popular with the public, but when you’re a Gul, you want the support of your crew and your colleagues, not the public, and a lot of important men in the military hated my father, and then, once he became active, my brother,” he looked at the ground and pursed his lips a little. “Zetik died because he stuck his neck up too high at the same time as my father – transporter accident,” he added with a head shake, “might have been a tragic accident, if it hadn’t been for the fact that a relative to one of my father’s clients stood behind the panel that day. You see, no matter how far I run, no matter how far I get, I’ll never become a Gul. I can’t,” he stopped them both on the platform and looked into her eyes, a painful apology in his own. “I do not dare to be more ambitious; I’m not brave enough, but I hope you understand why I’m acting the part of a coward.”

“I can’t fault you,” she held his gaze, sorrowful guilt in the bright blue: “It’s not cowardice, it’s reason and responsibility. Qualities needed to be a good husband and a good father. You truly have enjoined Cardassia, and you have cared to stay alive to serve her well. I respect that, deeply so,” she stroked his fingers.

 

A breeze flew through the station, agitating her free-flowing lock of hair but failing to bring much disorder to Enjam’s hair, and soon the shuttle arrived. It was the red line, and they had but few stations to make it to their destination in East Torr. They sat together and she took the opportunity to fix her hair a little and check her makeup.

As he sat in his seat and watched the stations rush by, Enjam thought of the city the same way as he had before he left for Bamarren: as his home. His mother would take him and his siblings to Torr while his father committed almost all his time to Nall, and he recognized almost all the buildings they went past. Not a lot had changed in all those years, save perhaps for his own body.

“What was he like, your brother?” he asked and looked back at her, how she cared for herself.

“Tovar?” she was a little surprised, then tried to recall. It felt like an eternity ago, and yet not. “He was seven years older than me. When we were children we played together a lot. He was very soft and tender, except when our father was around. In such moments, he tried to act manly and confident to hide how terribly insecure he was. We were terrified of our father, and if Father said we had to do something, then we did it. Failure to carry out an order was repressed with… oh, well, I suppose you already know. What Tovar said at the trial, it was all true,” she sighed. “He went to Dekaris when he was ten, and I missed him a lot when he wasn’t home. Once, when I was seven, I went to Akleen, on my own, and somehow I managed to fool everybody that I was with an elderly old woman who happened to be the mother of Gul ...Parn, or something,” she gestured. “She was too old to care about anything and she just backed up my lies. Either way, I managed to sneak into the Dekaris training grounds and waited there for five hours until my brother’s section came to train. And then I showed up and he was so happy to see me that he sneaked me into the Institute and we spent the night together in a supplies room. It was very uncomfortable but I couldn’t care less, and he neither,” her eyes teared a bit at the memory and she had to steel herself some. “He was loving like that. He kept me there for three entire days, brought me food, things to read, taught me how to clean a rifle and so I cleaned the rifles of the entire Second Level,” she laughed. “Then he got word from home that I had disappeared, and some students had tattled. Instead of saying he knew where I was, he sneaked out with me to get me back home and take the blame for me. So, you know, I don’t think he was even guilty of what he was accused of. I think my father had him cover up his own wrongdoings, and the only sin I think my Tovar ever committed must have been to be too kind with Bajorans, and I believe he might have fallen in love with one of them, a woman.” There, she had to take a deep breath. She still missed him, but she couldn’t say that, because she knew it would make her cry. It was just much too unfair that Tovar had been the one to pay.

Enjam didn’t show much of what he felt, but at the end, he took her hand and stroked her fingers a bit, escaping through the window, watching the city go by.

“I believe you,” he decided and filled his lungs with a breath that made them feel tight.

He forbade himself to think of his own criminal sister, the one who wasn’t allowed to lay with the rest, but of course, such a ban led to the opposite.

“It never does wear off, does it? The pain –” the transport stopped momentarily to let people on and off, but the two of them remained where they sat, discussing things that they very nearly shouldn’t. Not that anything they said could change anything, anyway.

“It’s… yes,” she composed herself and nodded. “Justice is so important and such a core element of our society… it’s no wonder that unfairness would cause such a traumatic pain, one that doesn’t wear off. Enker Reyal was my father, but I was so glad when his trial finally came. I couldn’t show it, of course, but I assure you that it was the greatest relief I had ever felt. That night, after we left you, I took the transport to Akleen and ran through the Grounds  to where my brother’s ashes were scattered, and I promised him a great many things. I ended up sleeping there and was woken up by the maintenance foreman who had come to prepare the place for the scattering of my father’s ashes. I went to the funerarium and waited to see the body arrive, and went to see it burn, and nothing else.”

She silenced for a while.

“At least, I think I can start mourning Tovar now,” she squeezed his hand still in his gentle grip and laid her other one on his lap. “Healing is a difficult process… at least, it helped to go into medicine and psychology. It helped a lot,” she looked up at him with calmer blue eyes.

There was strength in this gaze. She was just a civilian, but she’d gone through a war of her own and survived it, and for all the hurt, she was standing up quite proudly.

“And how may I best be of help to you in this process?” asked Enjam as he took her other hand, too, and held her fingertips. He sought for something in her eyes, he wasn’t sure what – perhaps a thread to hold onto, or maybe he was the thread for her to be led by.

“Oh, you’re already doing everything right, Enjam Rokat,” she smiled fondly and warmth came to color the wetness of her eyes. “I wish I could tell you something more, but you’re already so perfect…” she scolded him a little.

She smiled as emotion engulfed her, brightening her face although the tint of sadness in her eyes didn’t subside – it had taken years to learn to hide it, but whenever it showed up again, it wasn’t so easy to hide once anew. She just looked at him like that, then ended up giggling a little, like a woman sometimes giggles when she’s too full of emotions, but before they could say anything, the shuttle stopped again.

“Oh, it’s our station!” she realized and they quickly had to hurry out. She laughed more frankly and hooked arms with Enjam. “I feel like a teenager again,” she confessed, “back when I was seventeen, sneaking out of the Institute to go on dates in fancy restaurants,” she admitted. “But I also feel like a woman, more than ever,” she flashed a bit of teeth in a more mischievous grin. She was very much a woman in that dress and in that attitude, as she straightened up and composed herself in a more regal and dominating figure.

“Your seventeens are only seven years ago – and before you say that’s a long time, it’s forty one years for mine,” he looked at her meaningfully.

He should’ve commented on how improper it was to be this close so early during the courtship, but found that she deserved something to enjoy, and so did he.

##  * * *

They walked through streets that had crowded with people whose work day had ended – they were headed either home or to establishments like the one he and Delna were aiming for, and the air was filled with voices, music and the relaxed chatter that marked such a pleasant evening. He was absorbed by the light surroundings and cheerful atmosphere, smiling to himself where he walked.

“I wonder, is this area always this beautiful, or is there something special about tonight?” he looked at Delna with an expression of gratitude.

She blushed a little.

“Why, I was wondering if  _ you _ were always this beautiful or if there was something special about this area,” she teased, then blushed some more. “I think there might be something special about tonight… It’s as you said, in the end. Removing your armor did bring change. And it seems like a rather positive one to me,” she returned an expression of equal gratitude.

“I am sure things would’ve been just as delightful, even if I’d kept my armor on,” Enjam firmly contradicted, “except perhaps for this,” he stopped them both in the middle of the street and dropped his bag in favour of her jaw, outlining her cheeks with his fingers.

The street was full of the scent of people and flowers and pleasant foods, but as he bent over her and indulged their lips in each other’s warmth, all he could smell was her perfume, that of her skin, that of her hair, and that of her scent, that extra one that she’d applied out of care. Then he kissed away his sense of smell, just a brief kiss, just a touch of lips slightly more determined than before. Still, of course, considered obscene by others who would see them, but here no one really cared, and especially not at this hour. Delna had closed her eyes in abandon, she wasn’t sure when, but what she knew was that she felt a lot warmer than before and oddly serene too. It was such a gentle kiss and when she opened her eyes again, she mouthed a silent “thank you” to him.

“Enjam Rokat… you were born to swoop a woman off her feet ...and protect Cardassia, admittedly,” she reckoned. “It’s easy to fall in love with you,” she said and grabbed his bag to put it back in his hand. “I’m really glad I took up your invitation. And you? Are you still going to be angry at Sleen for trapping you into this romantic shopping day?”

Enjam had turned dark with her confession, but burst into a toothy grin at the mention of Sleen.

“But of course,” he said almost maliciously as he thought of it, “it was shameless of him. Just because he was right, doesn’t mean I have to be thankful to him – it is to you, and only you, that I owe this moment. I have no doubt that it would have happened even without Sleen,” he continued their walk towards the restaurant, grinning a bit more sunnily now. He knew that if the Order had seen that and had opinions on their illegal public display of affections, they’d probably have to terminate the case based on the Central Command’s desperation to get Enjam enjoined.

Delna laughed just as sunnily.

“And what will you do to Sleen in reprisal?” she asked. “He can’t get away with it so easily, can he? I heard that the Rokats always get back at those who mess with them,” she flashed her teeth, both amused and enticed by the idea. It was all a joke of course, but an entertaining one, and very Cardassian too.

 

They entered the restaurant and it truly was a beautiful piece of Cardassian architecture. It was quite tall, with seven levels organized in semi-levels around an atrium, which made the place look maze-like, like some sort of grand nest. A hive maybe, but with clever designs to dampen sound so noise from the tables didn’t carry too much, but the traditional music band playing from the middle of the pit could be heard. A waterfall created a lively semi-transparent, semi-circular wall behind the musicians, and lights directed on it gave it dancing, unreal colors, shifting at a slow, barely perceptible pace. It was one of the most expensive establishments of Torr, but Enjam certainly could afford the extravagance.

“Level six,” Delna asked of the waiter who welcomed them. It was the lowest level, but also the one that felt most sheltered while preserving a towering view of the building, which made architecture grander – Delna didn’t like to tower other people. And they were closer to the dancefloor if they wanted.

Enjam easily figured that she had been there before, and he had to wonder with whom, for what reason. Maybe something romantic, he figured, maybe someone she used to love – he hoped she didn’t still love them.

He followed her lead with the discretion of someone who knew enough to tell that he’d be lost without guidance. The waiter appointed them to a table, and Enjam pulled out a chair for his date, then sat opposite to her, watching the room, the people, the music and the waterfall. He felt alive with curiosity, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t young like her.

“So many wonders in one and the same building, and yet... all of it falters in comparison to you,” he smiled and leaned forwards a little, “please, do not think me shallow if I admire your beauty – I am well aware that it is but the beginning of your splendor, and I do not think I will ever cease to discover something new to admire in that brilliant mind of yours,” he looked down at the menu. “You decide what we’ll have, I’ll humbly trust your good judgement with my life.”

She giggled, allowing herself to appreciate the flatteries while she checked the menu too. It hadn’t changed a lot since the last time she came, which was good, because it probably meant the chef hadn’t changed either.

“You haven’t told me yet what fate awaits His poor Kerat,” she teased while trying to figure if she wanted fish or meat, and opted for fish. Hevrit was a classic of course, but she knew that the restaurant’s chef could turn it into a rare delicacy.

“Since he got me out of my armour, I suppose it would be justified if I got him naked, too. I could have his clothes transported straight off of his body; I’m sure Gul Meret wouldn’t mind to look the other way,” Enjam grinned a bit, imagining what it would’ve been if he’d done so during their earlier meeting: “It would’ve been very disorderly of him to be naked like that.”

She burst in a laughter as clear as the waterfall.

“It would have been!” she echoed while gesturing at the waiter to come over – she only gave him the number of the dish so it would be a surprise for Enjam, and let him go.

“I didn’t think you could be so vicious, Your Rokat, but since it’s a fair sentence, I don’t have any opposition to it. Maybe you should even do it after all. I’m certain he’d recover quite well; although, he  _ does _ tend to have children around him, and maybe  _ they _ don’t want to see that,” she realized. “Their mothers however…” she chuckled, “and their fathers too sometimes, from what I hear…”

“ _ That _ is a disorderly idea.” The idea that Sleen would be regarded as anything but professional while active in his profession was somewhat disturbing to Enjam; he’d never thought about it like that before. “Do you really think that’s what they think when he’s performing his duty?” he asked with the doubt that maybe, just maybe, she was messing with him. “He’s social services, a  _ highly _ proper position, it would be indecent to imagine him in such compromising ways,” he concluded to himself, “and probably illegal, too.”

“It’s not entirely illegal, actually. It depends on whether the relationship started before or after the counseling started… Let’s say that, in theory, it’s illegal. In practice, it’s not, but it’s not recommended either, because if someone decides to sue you for it, they can. So a counselor who’s careful will avoid that,” she explained. “I’m not closely acquainted to His Kerat, but I know of reputation that he’s careful because he likes his job and wants it to continue. He’s more the matchmaking type for all I know, and quite good at it,” she eyed at them both. “He makes things happen. But I believe he has a life of his own too. I’ve often wondered if he genuinely enjoys his work so much that he’s swamped in it this much, or if he’s one more man trying not to think about something else, like his infertile condition maybe,” she nodded. “Always worry for those who work more than they should need.”

Enjam sat back in his chair and tried to ignore where this conversation had ended up.

“I see where you’re going with this,” he almost accused her, though it was more tiredness than anything.

He realized that he’d been hurt by the topic, with how it resonated to their earlier failure of a confrontation, and her request to see others, something she clearly still pursued, albeit subconsciously.

“And where is it I’m going?” she asked in genuine wonder, because she was about certain they weren’t thinking of the same destination.

“You’re thinking of suggesting that he’d... comfort you... in my stead,” Enjam foresaw in a rather blunt honesty, shoulders drooping a bit. “I don’t dislike Sleen: he is skilled at what he does, but I’d prefer to keep my relation with him professional, and so I would prefer if... it was.”

She pinched her lips together to repress her laughter although she snorted a little.

“I have no doubt that he has a body I could enjoy, but I’m in social services too, and I can share your sentiment. The only ties I’d like to grow with him are professional ones,” she assured. “No, the ones I was worried about are you and Glain,” she said. “Although I’m more worried about Glain, because you very clearly love your duty,” she smiled. “The way you speak of it doesn’t leave much room for doubt. You truly are a soldier, and it’s a great comfort for me to know that you’re a great man too. I think I’ll always be waiting for your return with impatience,” she blushed a little. “Glain however –” she interrupted herself as the waiter brought small egg appetizers and two small glasses of Kanar blue with ice cubes of tea and a streak of black Kanar – “I believe he’s been cumulating two jobs during the past years and also managed to publish holonovels. And now those job changes…”

Enjam admired the food a little, smiling at the topic.

“It’s Nall,” he cared to share his insight, “he decided for Glain to finally start becoming a Conservator – it’s what he studied to be, after all, and he  _ is _ the only heir,” he picked an egg. “Whether he enjoys it is a different thing – it’s a luxury to enjoy your duty. I remain grateful for my position every day, first thing in the morning,” he nodded solemnly then looked at Delna: “Though, from this day and on, I shall also be grateful to have  _ you _ in my life.”

“I look forward to see that grateful face at least half of my mornings to come then,” she grinned and lifted her glass. “To our first date,” she toasted and drank.

He lifted his glass to her as well, sipped some, and thought of Glain.

“I’m worried for him too. Nall hasn’t exactly been an exemplary father,” he knew he shouldn’t criticise another man’s fathership, but couldn’t help it. “First, he insists on keeping Liyara alive and around, long past the date when it would’ve been dignified to relieve her of her duty to stay alive – I have issues believing that she would’ve wanted to live past the day when she could no longer recognize her own son,” he made a bit of an expression at his glass of Kanar, “And then this half-alien turns up and Nall jumps on the chance to embrace her and take her into his life, and as if that wasn’t enough, he also decides to adopt two children from Bajor, rather than tend to the one child he already has, and who needs him! And then there’s me,” he added glumly, “and I can’t really do anything about it, because Glain doesn’t want to come live with me. He wants his father. I can understand that, but he’s – he’s family. And I love him. He has such soft scales...”

“He still does,” she agreed. “He’s been through a lot. I hope it’s going to get better now that his mother has finally been allowed to rest. I’m not sure it’s Nall’s attention he’s after however. When I used to visit, Glain used to look at his father a lot, seek for his eyes, and a lot transpired in his body language. It was all so clear how much he loved him,” she picked an egg and enjoyed the soft flavor as she recalled images of the past.

“On the trial however, he didn’t look at him and there was something very cold in his body language too. I observed carefully, and the persons he looked at the most were you, first, and then Elem. And he did have a quick glance at Gul Dukat’s absence of ass during the recess,” she shared and mimicked the subtle, slightly disturbed expression he’d had, as if he’d wondered how the man could even sit.

“I don’t think he even realized that one,” she shook her head a little. But I’m quite certain that something’s broken between him and Nall. Nall didn’t look at him either. There’s a void between them, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that void kept on expanding. I’ve watched his trials, you see, and during the first ones, I could barely believe this was Glain Rokat, the sweet boy I once knew,” she took a sip of Kanar – the icecube had started to dissolve, delivering the sweet fragrance of tea. “In fact, he reminded me of Melekor, and I’m quite certain Nall must have seen it too and scolded him, because the style changed very brutally to something a lot more sensitive. You’d think that’s good,” she argued, waving her glass, “but what I think is that Glain has become better at putting distance between himself and his emotions and… I don’t know,” she admitted. “You love him like a son, and I care about him a lot too. He tried to take his own life once, and statistically, those who tried once are more likely to try again.” She silenced and put down her glass. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to worry you of course… but you’re his uncle… and if we do enjoin, I’m going to ...become his aunt,” she realized. It felt a little weird.

“Things always break between father and son at some point,” Enjam denied the weight of the observation, “they’ll heal; it’s what Glain wishes for, else he wouldn’t have turned down my offer – I have to accept his decision, and as my brother is still head of the family, I have to respect him too. I might feel like Glain is my own; that doesn’t mean he is, and it would be wrong and vain of me to do my brother’s duty. I’ve been banished to the backseat,” he shrugged and tried not to feel too bad about it. “I love my brother, but sometimes I wonder if he knows how lucky he always were.”

“Ah, yes,” she agreed, “he always was your father’s beloved, I imagine. The obedient one,” she lifted her glass again, then straightened up as their dinner arrived.

Two plates with thin slices of raw hevrit on top of warm, fried filet of the same, resting in a generous amount of pale blue sulay sauce, fragrant like the blue flower and promising a soft flavour. If hevrit was a fish often associated with the bravery of soldiers (the fish did travel through rivers to the sea and back again to procreate), then this dish was nothing short of erotic symbolism. A bit of ripe blue canus leaves adorned the plate, like a wish of financial fortune, and a bowl of sem’hal was set in between the dining partners, for them to share.

“This looks wonderful!” Delna shared her enthusiasm as she picked her cutlery.

Enjam studied his plate without much success – he didn’t have tastebuds in his eyes, and it was hard for him to deduct exactly which kind of fish it was. There were so many different kinds of fish, after all. The first bite, small as he made it, gave him some clues, but only enough to exclude certain other types of fish, and he was grateful she hadn’t gone straight for the rokat out of a sense of linguistic humour.

“How did you know?” he asked tentatively after he’d swallowed.

“About your brother?” she made sure the topic hadn’t changed, then let out a small sound of delice because the mixture of cold and warm fish, along with the sauce truly was a delightful experience. “I think it’s rather easy to deduce: he’s alive and didn’t go to Bamarren, and stayed to live in the family house, bearing the family name and the same title as his father. But I find the recent events quite interesting: how he’s nearly jeopardized his son’s future with his wish to acclaim more children into his family; children who weren’t his own, by Cardassian standards,” she pressed while gathering a bit of sem’hal and thick creamy sauce. “Glain always wanted to have siblings, so I hope he’s happy about it…”

“Glain’s the one who brought them – the children, I mean,” Enjam explained with a groan and a headshake, “I don’t know what he was thinking, but I believe Nall told me that Glain was planning on adopting them, and that he was so upset that he decided to adopt them  _ himself _ , and pay for their Institute educations with money that was supposed to go to Glain’s children – he tried to weasel some of mine,” Enjam recalled with a snort, “and I had to remind him that the Central Command was still pressuring me to have children of my own, and that I’d need money for them, and that I’d sooner invest in my nephew’s biological children than... not that there’s anything wrong with the orphans,” he made sure to clarify. “It’s just a bit of an un-Cardassian choice for him to take them in when he’s so old, and the two of them will have to live with the stigma that they symbolize something that the Union would rather we put behind us.”

“It must have been  _ quite _ a context to lead to this situation,” Delna reckoned. “I guess it’s not entirely unlikely of Glain to want to adopt children to avoid his own procreational duty, but  _ only _ infertile people can avoid the duty their body is incapable of fulfilling,  _ and _ you still need a partner of the opposite sex or a referent. I do have to wonder what he was thinking; there’s no way he doesn’t know those things with the law studies he had,” she hummed to herself pensively. “But you’re right, we’re going to need our money for our children, although I suppose we have to be careful. If Glain finds someone in the following years and gets children of his own, Nall might still want to pressure us into helping to cover for them too since he can.”

“He would,” muttered Enjam, which was a shame of a mood to go along with the delicious fish, “Nall would want the family tradition to continue, and I don’t think he’d have it any other way but to send his grandchildren to Sidjartan. He and father were  _ very _ much in agreement over the fact that, the only Rokats that count are those who become Conservators. The rest of us are there to serve the family: parentheses with no importance of our own – Melekor was happy enough when the State paid him the military life insurance for Zylesta and Zetik, and a good portion of it went to Glain’s studies and the saving account for Nall’s next child, the one that he never had. Now, that should’ve been enough lek to sponsor the children without asking me for funding, but then, I suppose Melekor drunk it all away when my brother wasn’t looking,” he added stiffly and shook his head to himself. “For a Conservator, Melekor always was a short-sighted family head.”

Delna chuckled at that.

“Let’s hope we shall do better then, because Nall seems to be following right into that one legacy too. But let’s not worry too much yet. I quite successfully managed to fool my father into thinking I made a very poor living out of being a psychologist, and a friend I have in Barvonok set me up a secret saving account – nothing illegal, the State knows about it,” she specified. “I just figured that I’d save as much as possible for the children. I’ve also been discussing with my mother, about rehousing. It’s a bit of a blow in matter of family history to let go of that house, but we’re not politicians anymore, and it’s a small house, overly costly for what it is, just because it’s in Coranum,” she didn’t mention that they both had rather awful memories around the place. “If you ask me, I’d rather be in Torr, and I’d rather mother lives close; she’s been looking forward to having grandchildren and I think it would be good for the children to have her around. She doesn’t have a career, but she knows a lot of things.”

“I’ve got a designated residence in Akleen,” Enjam told, and before she could protest, he held up his hand, “I know, it’s a very tricky area, not very easy to navigate and the architecture is atrocious when it comes to aesthetics, because everything is meant to be functional as well as a training area for the Dekaris students and the city guard,  _ but _ it’s spacious enough for a decent family, the cats like it, my housekeeper lives next doors with her husband – who is a ground level officer – and the State pays upkeep,” he added the last one with a bit of embarrassment. “A man my age isn’t supposed to still live like that, but I haven’t really had a reason to move anywhere else – Gul Meret often nags me for living below my rank, but I like it.”

“And children like cookies but grow up to diversify their menu,” she argued with a bit of fish and sem’hal. “Take me there tonight. Let me see if it’s as atrocious as can be expected or if there’s a chance that I might like it and see it fit for the future, and then we’ll see if there’s a need to further this discussion,” she decided to play fair this time. “And so, you have five children already, small and furry… How many more would you like to have? Scaly ones, I mean,” she jested although the topic of babies was a serious one.

“Temet said I should aim for no less than seven, but I think he was joking,” Enjam shared with a genuine glimmer of doubt that it might have not been a joke. “I’d like to have few enough that I can live long enough to see them  _ all _ grow up. I’d like to be there for them as long as I can,” he smiled a little and tried to calculate in his head, “so possibly no more than four – or eight, if you have twins each time,” he chuckled a bit at his own stupid jest and shook his head. “Please don’t do that, though, I don’t think it would be much nice for your body.”

She laughed along.

“It would be especially hard on my poor breasts,” she agreed. “Mothers are recommended to nurse for at least three years to ensure good development of the baby’s brain, so when you start having kids, that’s an activity that likely starts and doesn’t stop, and it’s well-known that it’s a strain. Especially when they get their teeth and start to bite – there’s a reason we have scales around there,” she shook her head a bit and had another sip of Kanar. “Four seems like a good number. Four or five, but we’ll see if I’m still as optimistic after one or two,” she grinned. Then paused to look at him, so handsome in those beautiful clothes, and she blushed a bit. “I’d rather we don’t educate them too strictly in matter of gender, when they’re only children and don’t have a gender yet,” she said. “I think children have a lot to teach us about them at that age.”

Enjam hummed a bit in scepsis at that, straightening up in his chair.

“It  _ is _ still important to ease their transition into adulthood by providing them with a good enough template on which mannerisms are acceptable for their gender – after all, deviances from the norm are more the exception than the rule, and why should we let a minority risk rob them of an education that would put them ahead of their peers? After all, something is better than nothing – and if the Notator decides to write them differently from how we’ve addressed them, then that will be something to correct at that point, and I hardly think  _ damage _ would’ve been done,” he took his glass of Kanar and was about to sip, but he interrupted himself: “Of course, you’re the psychologist, but I tend to think logic is just as good as expertise, sometimes,” he murmured and swallowed the sweetness of his own words along with the alcohol.

“Hm, I appreciate this recognition of my expertise,” she smiled. “The way I see it, I’d like for our children to learn of gender etiquette and mannerism for public activities, but in the privacy of home, it would be good for them to be allowed to relax and experiment. It’s also good for them to be with children of the opposite gender, to learn how to behave well with them and get more insight. That’s something that’s often overlooked, and a good reason why we end up with a lot of miscommunication and dysfunctional couples, with wives and husbands incapable of understanding each other,” she sighed. “Of course, with my job, that’s what I get to see all day long and sometimes it feels that there’s not a single functional family in Cardassia,” she laughed, “but I know it’s not actually true – most families do rather well. And I hope ours will be one of those. So far, you give me rather good hopes, Your Rokat.”

“But how do children socialize with children of the opposite gender, if children don’t have genders – according to you, I mean?” Enjam smiled a bit sheepishly at her; after all, they were reaching the point where this level of conversation shouldn’t be a threat, but rather the opposite. He was quite certain she’d have a clever come back and smack him down, and that made it all the more enticing.

“Stepping into shallow waters, hm? Careful of the dangers that lay beneath what you can see, Glinn,” she smiled maliciously. “Gender, by Cardassian law, is defined as an ensemble of codes and manners forming the gender etiquette by which adults are compelled to abide, but that’s for adults, not children. Yet, parents are used to prepare their children to enter gender by having them enact a chosen gender, usually picked in relation to genitals, or, if they’re a bit more conscientious, exploration of the reproductive organs,” she explained. “It’s true that in many cases there seems to be a rather good or acceptable match, although, sometimes, parents will get entirely mistaken. But the question is, do we have to force children to enact only  _ one  _ gender in order to prepare them? Isn’t it actually a better preparation to let them enact both? Some say it will confuse them, or make them sad when they have to abide to one only and discard the other, but there are no studies to back those claims, and while I’ve seen confused young people who had been assigned to the wrong gender in childhood, I’ve never seen someone who had experienced both and suffered any problem. Or at least, it wasn’t an inner problem, but a peer pressure problem, and usually very mild. So there, I think there’s everything to gain from keeping children in their legal genderlessness, and letting them learn of gender just like we let them learn of our jobs, and with equality between the two genders. After all, that’s probably why men find it so attractive to see a woman with a phaser, like a soldier.”

“There’s nothing inherently male about being a soldier,” Enjam defended with a negating hand movement, “some of our most decorated have been women – as an intern, I served under a female Gul, and even if I hadn’t, let’s not forget all the women who serve the military from base operations – and weapons construction,” he sent a cheeky glance toward her bag. “That phaser wasn’t conceived by a man, and I rather think that there’s a poetic value to a woman who can handle a weapon – now, armours,” he was about to gesticulate to himself, but remembered he wasn’t wearing his, “is a construct of the male mind, designed by men, mostly for men, and female soldiers  _ have  _ been known to experience issues with the design. Indeed, the entire military could be viewed as a one large shield protecting Cardassia, and that, and only that, is why so very few women are allowed to serve close to the borders and in alien space, because it is the women who wear the shield that the army represents, and it would be a grave crime to sacrifice what we protect – our future, the future of Cardassia. You,” he clarified and turned softer already. “Women, children and those who for one reason or another are unfit to fight: the vulnerable, the clever, the fertile, the creative, beautiful minds of Cardassia, the hearts that beat with passion and make all of our strife worthwhile. And that-” he lifted his glass again, “-is why a woman with a phaser isn’t a contradiction at all, but rather a piece of beautiful poetry.”

She couldn’t help but smile and blush and feel warm, and lifted her glass too.

“That’s because we are indeed meant complete each other so well,” she agreed. “To the poetry of phaser and shield,” she drank with him and blushed some more in the neck. The darkness made the blue on her scales all the more vibrant, and it made her feel a bit naked. “You are so eloquent, Your Rokat,” she pronounced his name with respect, “I love your loving wisdom and the sound of your voice. You dazzle me,” she admitted in surrendering.

“Then that’s a very lucky side effect,” hummed Enjam as he emptied his glass and placed it down. “You should ask me for a dance,” he told her with mischief, “I would say yes.”

“Hm, let me consider it…” she answered and cheekily took another bite of food, savoring it while thinking.

She did have to make herself desired a bit; an easy surrender would be much less of a thrill, and she did take delight both in the food and in toying a bit with this much older military man. Just as she was about to say something, she changed her mind and had another bite, as to say she needed more time, and kept on that little game until it turned into something more comical and they started to laugh.

“Your Rokat,” she finally put down her fork, “would you take me to the dancefloor and honor me with a dance?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he agreed and reached for her hand over the table, lightly touching her fingertips as they got up and their hand-holding became something deeper – he followed her.

 

There weren’t many other couples dancing just yet – typically no one wanted to be the first – but Enjam thought that if the entire world knew, it was only for the better. He wanted them to know!

The music that bound them together was slow but soft, not yet argumentative as dance music could be, but he knew this piece, he’d heard it before, and he knew where it’d take them – only, of course, he couldn’t know where  _ she _ would take him with the her interpretation.

“Iram Be’Dar is one of my favorite composers,” she whispered as they took to the dancefloor, properly distant at first, with just enough of an indication that they were courting.

The dialogue that followed was one from the eyes and the hand as she looked at him and took them onto the slow-flowing music. The pace gently increased to the sound of strings and to the singer’s voice, like a lamentation of yearning to belong slowly raising into something more active. More precipitation gushed into the music, invoking swifter movements and forcing the dancers to break eye contact every now and then, only to better seek each other again. Delna daringly led them around the dancefloor in ample movements, taking advantage of the mostly free space. She could efficiently predict the movements of other couples – a skill to show off – and she was conquering in land and moves, getting closer and closer to her partner, laying her hands in places tangenting on the improper without ever turning obscene, and daring him to do same as they clung to each other and twirled in more softness when came the fall of the piece. She needed him. And she needed him to need her.

Dizzied by the rather intense effort and hormones rushing through her body, she looked up at Enjam through hazy eyes and reached onto her toes to kiss his lips just as lightly and tenderly as he had kissed her before.

The music seemed to pause in that moment, and they kissed not only once but twice, thrice. Filled with as much joy, Enjam held onto Delna as if she could somehow save him – he felt humbled by her hunger for him, amazed by the warmth of her skin and how her scent had shifted to something more spicy.

For all his lack of sex drive, Enjam had always been very aware of his fine sense of smell – others, he’d noticed, never seemed to notice the scent itself, only the way in which it impaired them, like an ingenious little computer virus, disguised as a gift and swift to override all higher commands the moment those enticing molecules were unpacked in the depths of the Cardassian brain.

Enjam, of course, never could know what it might be to be controlled like that simply by a scent, but he still  _ appreciated _ the scent. It was, hands down, one of his utmost favourite fragrances – it made him want more of it, and he’d found that kisses, touches and cuddles all seemed to prolong and enhance the experience. At the peak of it, he’d usually ended up slapped or abandoned, however, accused of being a tease or insincere.

“I’d like more of this,” he told Delna as carefully as he could, suddenly acutely aware that, at any moment, he could offend her and she might leave him for someone more fun, “would you like more of this?”

“I would and I do,” she answered truthfully. “I very much do, but I know it’ll take time too,” she smiled. “I’m not worried. I already know it’ll be worth it, and that we’ll both be overjoyed when we enjoin, and when we hold our first child. I’ll do everything in my power to make it into the beautiful moments of life we both deserve,” she promised and led him out of the dance floor because she needed to catch her breath some more. She’d gotten a little sweaty in places, but she didn’t mind. She knew men usually liked that.

Enjam thought about children as they sat back at the table, and what she’d said earlier, on the topic of education.

“Your Reyal – I mean, Delna,” he cleared his throat and lowered his voice to maintain privacy, “if... it were to happen that one of my children were to wish to follow in my footsteps, surely... surely you wouldn’t forbid them? Would you?”

“Of course not!” she answered happily, getting back to her food with renewed appetite. “I’d rather not all of them do, but if they end up really wanting to, I wouldn’t oppose it. I do hope to make some future doctors however,” she nodded, dreaming themselves into the future a bit. “Tell me, how is it like for the medical officers on a military ship?” she asked.

“Boring, most of the time,” Enjam chased the doctor’s complaints from his mind with a head shake, “but when it’s not boring, it tends to be hellish, or so I’m told. The equipment is supposedly sub-par: only a handful of ships get upgraded to the latest standards, and those usually carry diplomats, politicians, representatives...” he waved his hand to further the list into the void. “We did a couple of runs like that some years ago and got upgrades in connection to it. Somewhat a hassle, but proved worth it in the end – I had to give up access to my normal room for six months, but they were exquisite once I got them back, and I got to keep the crate of Kanar the man left behind – not that I drink a lot,” he hinted carefully. “I actually quit entirely for a good while. Now I only drink at special occasions, such as tonight,” he served her with a court nod.

“Soberness is a trait I like in a man,” she returned the nod. “I like the taste of Kanar, but I favor it blended as something less alcoholic, like this,” she lifted her glass and ended it. “It keeps the mind clearer, more lucid and capable to make real choices instead of just yielding to the moment.”

She silenced to finish what was on her plate, but she felt hot and warm.

“I think…” she raised her voice again, “that you can make me a happy woman, Enjam Rokat. Oh, I expect we’ll have our disagreements, but I can see how much you want it, how much I want it, how much we want it to work. And I believe it can work,” she assured like a promise.

“Dessert?” he asked as he finished the last of his glass and dried the corners of his mouth with the napkin, “Or perhaps you’d rather head to my home and see the cats? They can be just as sweet as veila pudding,” he hinted with a suggestive shrug.

It made her laugh.

“Who needs dessert when there’s veila pudding? Besides, I love cats,” she gracefully wiped her lips too. “I used to have myrinx; it was a little wild of course, but I believe I was doing a good job at taming it,” she said as they got up with their bags, and went to pay – Enjam did, of course – “then my father returned from Bajor and found the poor animal where I had hidden her,” she sighed. “I’m  _ glad _ you like cats. Do you like wompats too?”

“I had one when I was a teen, at the Institute,” Enjam shared in the kind of confidence a light touch of Kanar brought: “One of my friends brought his – secretly of course; pets weren’t permitted – and it turned out she was pregnant. She had three cubs, and he gifted me one – white as crystal with striking blue eyes,” he smiled a little. “She lived for fifteen years, through my internship and my first years as a bridge officer – I was made Glinn almost exactly a month after she died, though I don’t think that there’s any connection there,” he held her arm as they wandered through the by now darker streets. He didn’t need to ask what had happened to Delna’s myrinx. “I suppose I could always make more room for more pets – the upper levels of the house are closed off to the cats anyway, since I worry a bit that they’ll fling themselves from the balcony and end up hurt – they aren’t kittens anymore. The oldest is twenty-one.”

“Aww!” she cooed in anticipation. “I’m eager to see this!”

And indeed, she was. Some of her colleagues would be incensed if they knew how Enjam gave living space meant for Cardassians to  _ animals _ , but Delna saw it as something thoughtful and sensible. And Enjam didn’t have children. It wasn’t abnormal that he’d have cats instead in the meanwhile, and according to Delna, more people should have pets instead of children, considering they treated them no differently anyway – although she also thought that people should care for their pets better. They discussed this on the way to Akleen, and it was a long conversation.

##  * * *

A towering cenabyra bush grew just next to the complex which Enjam Rokat lived in, and a small garden laid in the circular area around which the houses had gathered, like large inanimate animals gathering around the last water hole to drink. In the center of the garden laid an actual pond – it also had a fountain, which was spraying its water high and tall, illuminated from beneath with a rich orange-red color that made it seem more alike to liquid fire.

“There’s a small hideout under that fountain,” Enjam told as they passed it on the ornate concrete path, “I know because I’ve seen Dekaris students sneak down there for practice – it’s basically hide and seek, except they get to shoot at each other. They are usually civilized,” he added, in case she got concerned for the safety of her future children.

“There, this is my abode,” he climbed the stairs to his entry way and pressed the wall panel to let the both of them into the hallway, which lit up at his arrival and presented them with a warm interior and a spiral staircase leading both up and down.

“Cellar is mostly for the female cats, for when they have litters – I try to let the females have a puddle of kittens once or twice before I spay them; the kids at the Institute are usually eager to buy them off of my hands, and I tend to think that no military home is complete without a vole-hunting officer of its own,” he took off his shoes and gesticulated to the room to the right, “Down that corridor are the bedrooms. Four of them, I repurposed into playrooms for the cats; the fifth is for me to sleep in, though that bed is usually full of cats, and sometimes they piss in it when I’m on duty – because they miss me,” he clarified. “They aren’t disorderly, just animals,” he took off the other shoe. “That way is the kitchen, though I don’t use it for much. It’s got a cold room where my housekeeper stacks the meat for the cats – no, it’s not food that would have otherwise fed Cardassian bellies. It’s sub-par produce that’s been declared inedible. The cats do fine on it, and then upstairs,” he pointed to the ceiling, “Is where the pretty rooms are: those for commerce, broadcasts, social visits and ah, disorderly activities that I’ve never really tried,” he admitted with a slight blush. “The previous occupant left behind some equipment that I didn’t bother to get rid of. I use that room to stack broken things in, in case they could come in handy. You know, old cat beds and stuff,” he turned to her with a small smile. “I’d offer you tea, but it’d have to be replicated.”

“Replicated tea is usually quite decent,” she accepted the offer, following him barefooted to the kitchen.

She inhaled to fill herself with the smell of the place. It smelled tidy, with a hint of cats. The housekeeper did a good job at keeping the place in order indeed.

“It’s actually a very nice place,” she commented. “A lot bigger than I imagined, and cozier too. The architect must have been a caring person,” she guessed, “one who cared to provide a nice place for family life. A place the wife can enjoy and a place the husband will be glad to return to,” she smiled sunnily. It felt oddly good to walk barefooted in this place.

Enjam ordered evening tea for the both of them, softly warm with added fishmilk and liyali honey.

“We could sit by the table, or in the bed, unless you think that would be disorderly – it’s softer and a bit nicer,” he explained his suggestion as he turned to her, one cup in each hand, “and I would think that most of the cats are in there sleeping – it’d be a good moment to introduce everyone.”

“Oh, I would love that!” she welcomed both her cup and the second proposition. “These past years I’ve sometimes volunteered in a shelter so I could be around animals without having to have one of my own – it was safer. But I’ve missed seeing pets being cared for by their owners,” she told as she followed him.

“It is them who care for me,” cooed Enjam as they went through the corridor and into his bedroom.

The bed was slightly rounded with arches towering about. It was possible to attach fabrics to those arches, but Enjam had opted not to, since the cats kept climbing and tearing them.

Above the head of the bed murmured the distant glow of the fountain, visible through the militaristic window, open like a watchful, or perhaps admirant eye. Black and grey blankets adorned the bed, along with cats of similar colors, except for one, the scrawniest, which was a stark orange shade. Four sets of eyes opened to look at the guests, and the orange one instantly curled over on his back as Enjam approached and gave his chin a little rub.

“That’s Calyx, he’s the oldest,” he sat next to the cat and rubbed his ribcage, at which the little creature clung to his hand with all six of his legs. “He’s still rather lively, even though his gliding flaps have started to recede,” he chuckled a bit and nearly dropped his teacup as one of the more hefty cats, a plump black one, nudged his shoulder. “And that’s Tret,” he said with a chiding look at the cat, “she’s always competed with Calyx for my affections,” he shook his head a little, freed his hand from the orange monster and gave Tret a head rub. “And the grey little thing over there is Saleera,” the slender female blinked at them with wise, green eyes, “and that’s Tunk,” he made a head movement to the speckled grey-white-and-black cat, who didn’t even care to look in their direction, probably due to deep sleep. “I got her off of a Gul – his wife decided she was allergic to cats. Especially those with such disdain for others,” he chuckled a bit and looked at Delna. “I would think that Tain is somewhere in the cellar-” he cleared his throat, “-shouldn’t have named him that, can’t find him half of the time.  _ Never _ name cats after important families, especially not those kind of families. Not sure what I was thinking.”

She laughed and sat on the bed, carefully offering her hand for the cats to smell before offering petting Tret who was being rather social.

“Very good names, still,” she approved. She wasn’t most familiar with the Tain family (as far as she knew, they had no use for social services) but she could figure out what they might be dealing in by the description.

“I think it’s rather balanced, with a monster, a heroic politician soldier, an expansionist Detapa counselor, an exterminator of Klingons and a… sneaky pest-remover, I guess,” she listed. She took Tret on her lap and nuzzled her little head while playing with her gliding flaps. “They’re very cute, and they seem to form a nice pride. I hope you won’t be jealous of me,” she told to the cat, because, surely, the cat could understand. Then she giggled again and looked around, and then at Enjam again.

“It’s a very beautiful bedroom you have here, Your Rokat. Very inspiring too. I do like it, and I think I’ll stay for the night if your cats will allow me a place in your bed.”

“That would be very acceptable,” agreed Enjam as he sipped on his tea, which was already having a calming effect on him. Or maybe it was the cats, they always had this way to soothe him.

“Is the temperature in here to your liking, or would you like it warmer? I’ve set all my power consumption to minimum, but I’d hate to be a poor host.”

“Now that you say it, I probably wouldn’t mind a few more degrees,” she admitted and took a sip of the sweet tea. “But I can appreciate your thoughtfulness in sparing energy and resources. That’s very Cardassian,” she complimented his behavior.

Enjam asked the computer to up the temperature a couple of degrees, and then laid down on his side, sipping the tea while watching Delna petting Tret.

“Last time I saw a woman in a man’s bedroom, was when I accidentally walked in on a colleague’s session with a comfort woman,” he cared to tell her with amusement, “He was so embarrassed he seemed to have a permanently darker hue for days after – I couldn’t understand it, really. If he thought it was that awkward, why did he leave his door unlocked?”

“Maybe he had a fantasy of being walked in on,” she suggested. “It’s not uncommon for people to imagine this kind of things to make sex more exciting, with an edge of something forbidden to add spice to it ...but then, fantasies are usually only nice if they stay just that: imagination. People don’t actually want to end up walked in on, or to have sex in public, because that would be disorderly and would also put them in front of eyes that could judge them. And if there’s something that can easily kill off a man’s erection, it’s judgement. A  _ lot _ of men are terrified of not performing well in sex, probably because it’s harder to hide a lack of arousal with male parts than with female parts – although I think that if a man can’t spot a lack of arousal in a female, then they must be really oblivious of their partner, because the signs aren’t so different in females than in males, so they should know,” she gave her very honest opinion while sipping her tea. “But you, Your Rokat… do you know what arousal looks like?”

Enjam asked the computer to dampen the light a bit, and smirked into his cup as he sipped from it. Sex was a fascinating topic to him; the mystery in itself aroused him on an intellectual level.

“I do,” he told her, “I know the scents, the subtle changes in body language, the dark glimmer that enter into people’s eyes, and the slight flush of the neck. Cardassians too are an animal worth studying,” he looked at his cup to find it was empty and sat it on the bed. “Do I know the signs? Yes, in that regard. Have I investigated it in the nude? Not really – I remember looking it up in some medical files, but the language was dry and the pictures...” he shook his head as to suppress them a bit. “Of course, my colleagues try to give me advice and hints all the time, but I’m not sure they are reliable sources – they are males, and they think highly of their wits, too highly, I believe. They think they initiate the mating procedure – I think they are arrogant. By the time they are filled with the urge to pursue, the female seem to have gotten into their brains already. Sometimes she doesn’t even want to be there, but that is how it works with scents: you can’t really choose who gets to smell you and who doesn’t.”

Delna silently sipped on her tea as she listened. She blushed a little, but more from slight shyness and intimidation than from lust.

“Have you never sought the company of a comfort woman, then? For exploration – some men who lack sexual attraction do, often in hope that they might know how to ‘fix’ them, or that it might be less pressure. Of course, there’s usually no miracle…”

Enjam looked at her for a moment, a slight tint showing up on his cheeks, then he held up a finger, put the empty cup on the floor next to the bed, and laid onto his back, careful not to crush any of the cats.

“I’ve been to comfort women,” he started to tell with a certain degree of suffering, “Not at my own initiative. There was this period in my life, when I was younger... Meret thought he’d help me, so he kept on paying a girl or two to stay in my quarters for the duration of our missions,” he cleared his throat a bit. “I learned a lot about kotra, then. And inbred female sex,” he added with another cough. “I found it interesting to watch – and you know, sometimes I think about it, and I manage to masturbate – but it’s not the same thing as being drawn to somebody, and most of the time I end up bored and unfocused before I can finish myself, and then it hurts a little,” he sighed and turned his head to look at her. “I have no doubt that those women enjoyed their stay very much. Did get a bit cramped in my bed – I think what made Meret give up on it was that one time when he went to ask me for a report I hadn’t filed yet, went into my room and found me reading a tech manual while the women were at it in the bed.”

Delna burst in laughter at that and put her empty cup on the floor too.

“That must have been a picture he’ll never forget!” she nearly teared from hilarity, but her smiling eyes were most fond when she looked at him again. “You know, in a way, it’s very reassuring to me, because I’ve dreaded the possibility that I’d end up with a man who may… force himself on me. But with you, I don’t think that would happen,” she said and got up, walked around the bed and kneeled next to it, resting herself lightly against the man’s chest.

“I’m also glad to know you can sometimes pleasure yourself, even if it’s a tedious struggle that doesn’t always reaches completion,” she said with compassion and kissed his lips. “I usually masturbate before sleep, to relax,” she shared, “but I don’t want to disturb you tonight, or to put any sort of pressure on you… It’s your home…”

Enjam nodded and sighed with sleepy content.

“Then I’ll find you another way to relax,” he suggested and then writhed a little. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get out of these clothes; I usually sleep naked – nightclothes strangle me and pinch me in unpleasant places,” he looked at her for a short moment. “Unless you’d prefer if I covered myself; I can’t imagine I’d be much of a treat for young eyes like yours, anyway.”

She giggled and got up to free him.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, although I have doubts that I’d dislike what lays under those clothes,” she said. “I usually sleep naked too. It makes me feel more ...free, and real, somehow. I get to reconnect with my body,” she told. “I hope it won’t make you uncomfortable, as I… didn’t think of bringing a nightgown, obviously,” she made a sorry face. “I didn’t put on my prettiest underwear either,” she warned, too.

“It would be entirely unfair of me to hold you to different standards than I hold myself,” Enjam told her sincerely as he started getting out of the clothes – he was more at ease being seen naked than he had been when dressed in the colorful clothes earlier that day, and once he was naked, he simply slipped under the blanket without really contemplating that Delna might have been watching him.

The only question he thought he might receive was the one about the jagged scar that painted itself across his abdomen.

The woman took a little longer to undress, because she cared to fold her new dress with the attention a gift deserved, and then she also had to remove the many pins from her hair. As it fell free on her shoulders and down her back, it curled with strength and elasticity and she took a moment to pass her fingers through it to make sure there weren’t any knots, and to untie the few ones she found. Her disentangled hair gave her a wilder look, and she approached the bed without shame. She’d cared not to show her back too much however, so not to exhibit the scars that still laid there, as a residue of violent punishments that had been healed with amateurism. She carefully slipped into the bed, trying not to bother the cats while getting closer to her future husband.

“I have to warn you,” she looked at him sincerely, “I find you very attractive. You’re strong, and I feel safe with you,” she kissed his cheek and huddled close. “That scar you have, is it a painful memory?” she asked with great care.

“No,” Enjam answered most softly as he tangled fingers into her hair to feel the unruly texture of it, “it’s a memory of great joy, because each time I see it, I’m reminded of what I’ve survived, and what I’ll continue to survive,” he drew in her scent and closed his eyes. “We had a run in with renegade Klingons for one of our missions in Federation space. We were  _ expected _ on one of those Federal planets, but got ambushed – we had to deal with it ourselves. I hate to think what would’ve happened if we would’ve accepted the offer of a Starfleet escort: they would’ve probably aided the Klingons and then pretended it was an unfortunate accident – they are treacherous, all of them,” he sighed deeply and opened his eyes on the present again. “So we got boarded. One of those barbarians hacked into me with a _ sword _ . Of course, I landed a really good shot on him at the same time, so he died for what he wrought. Busy day for the medics,” he reckoned, “but then, we  _ were _ transporting Doctor Crell Moset, so I never thought for a moment I wouldn’t survive. I chose a very good moment to nearly get split in two,” he jested and stroked the scales on her cheek. “But dear me… this is not a proper bedtime story, and I don’t want to fill you with nightmares. I’m such an inconsiderate host,” he chastised himself and drowned his drowsy mind in her eyes. “If you turn around, I’ll caress your back – it’s soothing, pleasant and I personally prefer it to masturbation; only, it’s extremely hard to do it to yourself – I tried to teach the cats, but they don’t have much stamina for those tasks.”

She kissed, smiling still and again, and turned onto her belly to let him do.

“You’re such an amazing man,” she cooed. “Doctor Crell Moset? The exobiologist? That must have been an incredible trip, having such a brilliant scientist aboard… How was it? Tell me more; I’m not afraid,” she assured. “I’ve certainly seen worse in my own time on Bajor. How was he, Moset?”

Enjam laid on the side so he could better run his fingers along her spine, over the skin of her shoulder blades, the nape of her neck – he noticed the scar tissue, he knew the feeling of such intimately well, and said nothing about it. Other occasions would come, ones that wouldn’t be so much in the way of a cozy evening.

“Short,” was his first thought on Moset, “good at stitching up wounds, inside and out, creative and good at improvisation – I wouldn’t have scarred if he’d had access to the tools from his lab, it’s what he told me. And then, he went on to talk about Klingons. I left when they brought in the dead ones so he could dissect them. You’d be surprised to learn how easily queasy you become just after your guts nearly got cut out of you,” he grimaced at the disgusting memory. “But what else I gathered about him is that he’s very talkative, has a taste for alien food – he shared some with us – and he’s decent at singing. Endearing, really, though a bit disorderly and weird,” he crept a bit closer to lean above her, placing kisses over her neck and upper back, nuzzling at her shoulders. “Tell me, is there anything else you’d like me to do for you? Tonight, before we go to sleep. Have I forgotten something?”

She hummed longly and the wondering sound shifted into delight.

“If there was something not to forget, I’ve forgotten what,” she croaked with amusement. “What you’re doing is so good… I’ll have to do it to you too,” she mewled. Then she recalled. “Oh, I know. You need to send a report to Sleen Kerat,” she said and giggled, “but I think it can wait for tomorrow,” she smiled drowsily but widely. “I feel good. I feel good with you, Enjam Rokat. You’re proper, kind, attentionate, subtle, caring, intelligent, brave ...and very funny. And I really can use a man who can make me laugh. I think I can fall in love with you and stay in love with you,” she turned to her side so she could face him, hug him and caress his back. And kiss him lovingly. 

Enjam would’ve answered that she should tell that to Sleen for the report, but was muffled by the kiss, and once it was over, so were his thoughts about Kerat.

“It’s a pleasure to court you,” he answered and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I think I know what I forgot,” he realized at that moment, then realized how unfitting a moment it was and had a small inner battle over whether or not to say it anyway. “But I suppose that can wait until it’s needed. If I’m asleep by then, just wake me up to ask,” he suggested and relaxed against her, enjoying the trickling sensation of her fingers over his back.

“I’ll do just that,” she smiled.

She kept on caressing him in silence for a while, until her movements became more sluggish and finally stilled. Then, as the both of them were started to sink toward slumber, a bubbling chuckle escaped her.

“I was just imagining your brother and your nephew’s expressions if they’d walk in on us right now,” she admitted in a whisper.

A muted hum escaped him, and he had to clear his throat to make it audible. Then, his brain processed what she’d said.

“You’ve got such a disorderly imagination,” he told into her neck, too drowsy to open his eyes for the conversation, “I was thinking of what to make for breakfast tomorrow; it’s important to plan ahead. I’m very orderly.”

“Then, surely, we’ll make for a perfect balance of disorderliness and orderliness, Your Proper Rokat,” she murmured and let them fall back into sleep.

And when morning came, she awoke to find the both of them pinned to the mattress by two cats each. Still no sign of Tain however. Silently, she snuck out of the sheets so she could look at her still-asleep companion, and Tret followed her out of the room as she started to explore the house, naked and in search of the bathroom. It was funnier this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	30. IV - Joining night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)

 

# Part IV

##    
They All Fall Down

  


* * *

## Joining night

After almost an hour of searching, Glain finally came downstairs with the necessary item to bring to the joining ceremony: a fine ornamental fishing spear, with an obsidian arrowhead shaped like a rokat fish, and a body of bonewood crafted from a species of tree now-extinct on Prime. The obsidian was etched delicately with the family name, and a silk ribbon of a bold carmine shade (still bright after several centuries) was attached just underneath the blade and to the other end of the spear, allowing to carry it on one’s back. Not that Glain would do so now, instead letting it rest in the protective case, with the twin spear.

“Are you certain you don’t want to come?” the young man asked his father as he crossed the living room. “There’s still time to change your mind, and I really think you should come.”

Nall sighed at Glain and looked up from the work file he’d been reading.

“I’m perfectly content staying here,” he reassured him with an extra look toward the spear case, “and I trust you’ll bring those back in one piece”

“Yes. After all,  _ I _ will need them too,” the son replied a bit sharply. “But I don’t think you will be so content having stayed there and done nothing when you realize what you’ve been missing. Elem is your  _ sister _ . You can’t just discard her after all the trouble she went through to get here. You wanted to recognize her legally and now it’s done!” he said with more energy than he first intended to and had to set the case on the sofa.

“She is the symbol of my father’s betrayal and disorderliness,” Nall closed his PADD and set it aside to look at his son. “I can’t bear to see her, and I don’t have a place at her ceremony – I’d be as offensive to her as she is to me. So I think it’s more diplomatic to stay here, letting her enjoin into another house while cleansing this one.”

“Cleansing!?” Glain repeated in outrage. “Don’t you- Don’t  _ YOU _ talk about cleansing after everything that’s happened in this house! For State’s sake, father, don’t punish the child for the father’s sin! It’s not  _ her _ fault that Melekor was such a disorderly cheat! You’re a Conservator! I shouldn’t even have to tell you such things! So do what a Conservator must do and  _ conserve _ Elem in our family! She’s a person, not a symbol! Allow her to see that you recognize her before she becomes Sokal Dain’s wife and leaves us! It’s your  _ last chance _ to do that!”

Nall’s lips twitched a little in a sad grimace, but then he shook his head and leaned back.

“I can’t,” he told him firmly, “My father has humiliated me for the last time, I won’t play his game anymore – I thought she was my own, and then he took that from me. The truth broke what I felt for her, and now there’s nothing, and it’s  _ his _ fault. And that’s why I can’t go. I don’t belong there, she’s not mine, and I can’t fool myself to believe she is. All I see when I look at her is my father’s scornful grin as he took the woman whom I loved.”

Glain closed his eyes for a moment, resting straight arms like thin pillars on the sofa’s backrest.

“Then do it for me and her, not for you. Because you’re being selfish. You’re making it about yourself,  _ again _ , and she deserves better!” he threw an accusative glare. “Take action for once, Nall!” he dared speak his father’s name. “Ever since mother became ill, you’ve so completely lost your way! You used to be that sharp and active man who protected his family with care and love, and enough so to embrace others too, like Iltarel, like… even Delna, when she tried to… and you,” he gesticulated. “But  _ then _ , oh, then… Yes, you battled with the medical ward to keep mother here,  _ against their advice _ , but you might as well have done nothing! Because the truth is that you just didn’t want to lose her, you didn’t want things to change, you couldn’t accept that she was leaving us and that there was nothing we could do! She was gone! She was already gone!” he flailed his arms and his voice broke a bit. “She was so gone that she…!  _ I _ didn’t just spend less time here to make it easier on her when she was confusing me as you, I did it because she was trying to do things to me that were meant for you!” he finally took it off his heart. “My mother tried to have it with me because of you and your stubborn blindness,” he stared at him and his green eyes were dry.

Nall felt as though his mouth had gone arid like the desert, and when he finally diverted his eyes from Glain, it was to simply get up, take his PADD, and walk into his study, where he took his seat behind his chair to continue reading. Those were things he didn’t want to talk about, even less so believe.

Glain couldn’t believe it either, and he pondered a moment what he should do. Surely, he should calm down, maybe drink half a glass of Kanar and ignore everything, but there was no more Kanar in the house and he didn’t feel like calming down. He’d been calm for too long, and so, in defiance of common sense, he strode to his father’s study and barged in.

“This isn’t over! Don’t you just walk away from me! I want you to  _ SAY _ something!  _ REACT _ , for State’s sake!” he shouted at him in anger.

Nall laid the PADD on the table and gave his very angry child a tired look.

“Go,” he said to him as he turned on his chair to open some archives on the wall panel, “and when you return, I don’t want to hear any more of this, is that understood?”

“Oh, but you won’t,” hissed Glain in a wrathful voice, “because I  _ won’t _ come back. I’m clearly not your son anymore,” he said and grabbed the little bone carving he’d made at school when he was a little child and smashed it on the floor before storming out.

He felt like crying but he simply couldn’t. He just grabbed the case and his handbag, put his jacket, pulled the hood of his shirt, shrouded his face with a scarf and strode to the door.

“You want to disassociate, then?” asked Nall after him as he came into the corridor like a shadow, “This is no way to treat your father, and if I had been a harsher, more Cardassian man,  _ I  _ would’ve been the one to finalize that request – Glain...” he looked at the other’s back, hoping he’d give him a reason to forgive.

The young man stood there for a moment, trying to find something to reply. At last, he just pressed the button to open the door and glanced back at his father with hurt green eyes.

“Will you come to your sister’s joining?” he decided to stick to his initial request.

Nall looked at Glain’s eyes, but couldn’t keep contact for too long.

“I love you, Glain, but you have wounded me deeply,” was all he could think to say before he retreated into his work room, where he picked the small bone carving from the floor and held it close to his heart.

“ _ So have you _ ,” was all Glain could think as he walked out the house.

He truly felt like crying, but his eyes were still dry, as if his body had decided to stay representative no matter what. He walked to the transport station and went to the Hall of Ceremonies in Tarlak, although his attitude would have one believe he was headed to the Grounds for a burial. In a way, maybe that was what it was.

He got a little lost in the large building but was found by Enar Dain, who looked absolutely regal in his clothes; black and vivid cyan. Glain didn’t feel as regal although he’d cared to put on a pretty moss green and golden jacket over his dark shirt and black pants.

“We’ve been waiting for you!” Enar scolded him and hurried him into the room in which Elem was waiting.

Mijal was there too, inspecting the pins in the bride’s elaborate hairstyle. Glain blinked in surprise.

“Your hair grew a lot,” he said most stupidly.

Elem burst into a wide grin at the sound of Glain’s voice and turned to greet him.

“Medical secrets, courtesy of Crell Moset,” she explained with a gesture to her hair. “Glain, I’m so happy to see you,” she beamed at him and went to embrace him, then she frowned and looked at him from further away. “Nall isn’t coming, then?” she could tell. “I didn’t expect he would,” she confessed before Glain could answer.

She didn’t need her empathic senses to see something was wrong, but she didn’t want to pry it out of Glain, either.

“I tried my best.” he said with a sorry smile and looked at her some more. “You look really beautiful. Sokal is a lucky man.” And he really thought so.

“Did you bring it?” Mijal came closer. “Can I see it? We won’t get to see it much anyway, will we?” she argued.

“Oh, well, I suppose we have to open that case anyway,” Glain agreed and set it on the table before opening it.

Mijal let out a long “oooooh” of appreciation at the sight of the spears and Glain gave one to Elem. “There. Nall couldn’t make it, but this is your token, rightfully yours to wear,” he said. “I’ll be there to receive it again when Sokal takes you into his family.” His tone betrayed a bit of emotion. “I’m going to miss you…” he added in a smaller voice.

“Aw, Glain,” Elem looked up from the spear she’d been given, a similar emotion to his reflecting in herself, “I’m getting enjoined, not dying – and I’m sure Sokal won’t mind having you over. You’re my brother, after all,” she reckoned with a more serene smile.

“Thank you… I guess it’s just going to be different, and yet not, I hope,” he set his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “You’ll always be my sister and I’ll always love you, no matter what happens. I trust you’ll be well-protected and safe with such a family.”

Mijal snorted at the innuendo.

“I’ll let the two of you get ready, but don’t you start crying now,” she waved her fist. “The ceremony starts soon. You go by this door when the light turns on,” she pointed. “I’ll go get myself a seat. You, don’t stress it,” she told Elem, “I know you’ll do good. And you,” she turned to Glain, “don’t forget the case and don’t try to steal the show with your handsome face,” she said with a slightly flirtatious attitude and left.

Glain silently looked at his sister, blushing a little.

“It’s going to be great,” he assured.

“I know it will,” Elem agreed, then sighed and leaned her chufa against Glain’s, closing her eyes to better calm herself down.

She was nervous, and a little worried for her brother.

“It means so much to me that you’re here,” she told him, trying very hard not to think of the disturbing dream she’d had of Glain; this wasn’t the moment, “please promise you’ll come by to see us often.”

“As much as I can, I promise,” he nuzzled her, closing his eyes too, perhaps to imagine she was still the male he’d first met, enticing and attractive.

The thought came to his mind that he could destroy this entire moment, kiss his sibling, claim the joy from both hers and Sokal’s hands…

“I’m going to be very busy,” he said instead, steeling himself. “I have a lot of work now, and I don’t intend on keeping my position as Conservator forever,” he smiled. “I have my own path to walk.”

He took a breath and kissed her cheek again, the left one this time, close to where he’d kissed her before, in Dain’s office.

“You walk your path too, right?” he asked and looked at her.

Elem smiled and held his hand with her free one – they were close to indecency, close to something that shouldn’t be, and yet she felt drawn, as if there had been a beginning between them that kept begging to be resolved.

“Yes I do,” she answered as she rubbed his fingers, “and it is a dark path – but I’ll never know loneliness again, I’ll always belong,” she glanced toward the door. “That’s the beauty of darkness – there’s always a light, and it’s always beautiful.”

“I suppose, yes… But you’re the light, Elem,” he held her face. “Remember? I’m the night sky and you the light, dotting the distance,” he smiled although he couldn’t completely rid his eyes from the sadness in them. “Even if the path is dark, you’ll shine,” he said, opting not to complete the riddle that would have him walk in bright places, only to be a void of darkness. It would be too close from the truth. “And talking of light,” he looked at the door, “it’s time.”

He made sure the spear was secured on her back without messing her hair, and took the case, ready to lead her into the room. Nall should have been the one doing this and Glain felt somewhat unprepared, but it shouldn’t be complicated.

##  * * *

Enjam found that Tarlak was more beautiful than usual, as a recent rain had sent opportunistic flowers into blooming, seemingly celebrating along with the guests that were making their way to their respective ceremonies. He followed the directions for those associated with the Dain family, telling Delna of how curious it was to think that maybe, next time, it would be  _ their _ enjoinment.

They found the entry to the almost-cathedral-like room, and Enjam smiled brightly as they went through – he didn’t have an invitation, of course, but he was the woman’s brother, and by right of law, that meant he was automatically welcome, though he knew he was doomed to catch some attention due to his decision to come.

“You know,” Delna decided to reply to him, “this place looks absolutely wonderful, but if you’d rather, we could get enjoined on your ship, if Gul Meret would celebrate the union,” she said with subtle discretion. “I think it would be romant-” she interrupted herself as a man almost as tall as Enjam strode to them.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking at Enjam but at her too.

“Your Dain!” she recognized Sokal’s traits in him. “We came for the ceremony of course,” she smiled pleasantly.

Enjam had paled a little, shrunk too. There were few things he feared, but Enar Dain was one of those few things.

“I’m here to attend and support my sister’s enjoinment, as is my lawful right,” he peeped up and felt small. “She  _ is _ my sister,” he clarified extra much, “even if she’s only half-sister, the paragraph  _ clearly states _ that all by blood, except disassociated sibling relatives, are to be granted access,” he gulped a little.

Enar kept a blank expression, revealing absolutely no emotion, but also kept silent for a few seconds.

“And you?” he asked Delna.

“Three Mikar,” she pointed at herself. “I wouldn’t miss His Five Taraleth’s joining,” she smiled smugly. “ _ And _ I am with Enjam,” she grabbed his arm.

“That’s disorderly!” Enar stared at the proximity. Then fathomed, “Wait, what do you mean by ‘with’?”

“We’ll be enjoining soon. Maybe you’d like to come to our ceremony? It would be a pleasure,” she grinned.

“You and  _ Rokat _ ?” he looked at her, then at Enjam. “You and  _ Reyal _ ’s daughter?” Then he burst in laughter and dragged them in. “But sit in the back, please; I don’t want to risk an accident since, from what I understood, your family’s token is a  _ spear _ .”

“Fisherman’s spear, yes,” mumbled Enjam, who had flushed a bit at being laughed at, “but I’d like for us to sit with Glain,” he protested further and tried to get a better overlook of the crowd. “Where is he?” he tried to stand on his toes, as if that would conjure up his nephew.

“He’s not sitting, he’s standing,” Enar darkened a bit. “Your brother chose to be insulting and didn’t come.” He stopped to look at Enjam. “You don’t know,” he realized. “You don’t know anything… My poor Rokat, it seems that your brother didn’t take too kindly to find out he wasn’t the father after all. He threw Elem out on that very night – not that we were anything but delighted to receive her – and he had a fallout with his son and also fired his housekeeper,” he updated Enjam, and also mentioned the kids’ escape to Culat, and that Elem had invited Crell Moset to the ceremony – he pointed discreetly to where the doctor was sitting, engaged in a vivid discussion with Kilem.

“He  _ fired Keelani? _ ” Enjam hadn’t been able to pick which of everything was the most absurd, and left the task to his reptilian brain, which in turn had made an absurd choice. “He had a fallout with Glain?  _ Glain’s the spear bearer? _ It should be me!” he burst out in realization, which terrified him a little. “I’m the eldest present – but I’ve never – and I suppose it’s too late now,” he paled to a very pale color. “He threw her out?” he asked in weakened shock. “But she’s our sister,” he continued without understanding, “How could he throw her out when she’s our sister? His  _ own  _ flesh and blood – at night! Uh,” he looked at Delna, at Moset, then back at Enar, a frown desperately maring his forehead.

“The Rokats sure have a taste for drama,” Delna pinched her lips but decided to brighten up. “Amusing that Moset should be there. My future husband is a man who fought in close-combat with Klingons in order to keep the doctor safe from them, and Doctor Moset himself stitched him,” she said proudly. “He still has a marvelous scar-”

“-Well, why don’t you have a seat; I have to go,” Enar cleared his throat and left hurriedly.

“Ah, well…” Delna nodded and scanned the guests a bit. “Oh, there is His Jarad,” she easily spotted the albino. “And Her Dera’an,” she pointed at the housekeeper who was discussing with another woman. “I don’t know any of the others,” she admitted. “Are those children the ones who were adopted by Nall?” she pointed at the kids.

“Yes...” mumbled Enjam as he was turning around to see if Glain wasn’t there after all, “Why don’t you go talk to His Jarad for a while? I’ve got something to do,” he patted her hands. “I’ll be back before you know I’m missing,” he told her reassuringly and ushered her toward the pale Cardassian, while he himself slipped out through the doors and dialled his PADD.

Nall picked the call instantly.

“ _ Yes? _ ” asked the Conservator from behind his desk.

“Why are you not at our sister’s ceremony?” despite his best attempt to remain calm, Enjam’s voice had slipped up a couple of octaves.

Nall’s expression hardened.

“ _ The question is rather, why are  _ **_you_ ** _ there? _ ”

“I can’t believe you just asked me such an un-Cardassian question,” hissed Enjam, who was making an effort not to lose his temper. “You, a Conservator, asking me why I’m at my sister’s enjoinment – you should be ashamed of yourself,” he added sharply.

“ _ Enjam Rokat, you’ll address me in a civilized manner, or this conversation is over _ ,” Nall policed the entire tone of the conversation.

“You are disgracing our  _ entire _ family by offending the Dains,  _ and _ you made  _ Glain _ , a boy who is already desperate to get enjoined because of your pressure, the  _ Token bearer _ ,” his voice had risen a little above what was a normal conversational tone.

“ _ Glain didn’t have to go, he chose to. _ ”

“At least  _ someone _ in this family is mature!” burst Enjam with as much offense as he could muster. Nall didn’t show much of a reaction. “I was hoping to meet you here today, I have something to tell you, I-” the call ended and Enjam remained with an open mouth for at least three seconds before he processed the fact that his brother had hung up on him. “Fine,” he muttered and re-dialled.

“ _ No _ ,” said Nall to him at the other end.

“I’ll have Meret transport you here if I have to,” threatened Enjam.

“ _ That’s illegal _ ,” countered Nall.

“You’re the one who’s illegal,” fumed Enjam, who was now well above audible to the people in the next room.

“ _ I’m afraid I’d be terribly unfit to appreciate the ceremony, and that the people present would harbour the same attitude towards me _ ,” Nall stated and moved to close the call.

“Well, I’m unfit to be your brother!” Enjam threw at him just before the call ended, at which he couldn’t contain himself anymore, and flung the PADD into the wall so hard that the shell broke off of the components. “And stay there,” he snarked at the pieces, but made sure not to pick them up, for he didn’t want to die an idiot like his father.

“Well, that was a conversation and a half,” said a female voice in his back and Mijal appeared. “At least  _ I _ am glad to learn you changed your mind in the right direction. I am Mijal Dain,” she said and took a look at the PADD, then picked the main part. “Not beyond repair; that’s best not to leave here laying around for someone to pick up and snoop,” she inspected it and picked the shell. “Should be safe enough to carry in a handbag; but you’ll need tools to reattached these,” she gave it to him and sighed. “Shall we see your sister enjoin my grandson? I brought my holorecorder; maybe your brother will want to see someday, but for now, let’s not taint this day with thoughts of him,” she took her camera out of her handbag.

“Yes,” agreed Enjam, fidgeting with the pieces of his PADD. “I’m sorry for the disorder,” he added, a bit shamefully, as they rejoined the crew within.

He spotted Delna and reached her where she was standing with Iltarel Jarad and a young man of a similar age that Enjam didn’t recognize – he truly felt like he’d ended up in a group of children, and felt even worse as he turned to Mijal and introduced Delna.

“This is Delna Reyal, soon to become Delna Rokat through me,” he introduced her courteously, then nodded a bit to Iltarel and his company.

“Oh, congratulations for fishing such a splendid catch,” Mijal admired Delna.

“The two of you are getting joined?” Iltarel blinked. “That’s something I hadn’t seen coming at all, although I can see how it would make sense…”

Then he composed himself some more to introduced his shamar.

“This is Dayar Edar, whom I do hope to seduce into joining,” he said, blushing rather vividly under Enjam’s disturbed scrutiny. “ _ He _ is a very talented writer and doubles as Public Record Editor and Translator at the Bureau of Alien Affairs.”

“Isn’t that where Glain used to work more recently?” Delna asked Dayar.

“Yes, but I’d rather not be recalled as  _ the person who Glain once worked with _ ,” smiled Dayar.

“You do not like my nephew,” concluded Enjam in less than a second.

Dayar looked up at him, and a very brief battle of the eyes took place between them.

“I do not like nor dislike your nephew, Your Rokat,” Dayar settled.

“Well, this day isn’t about Glain,” Delna chirped. “If you’re from the Bureau of Alien Affairs, does that mean you know Sokal? I believe that’s where he works as Notator? I haven’t seen him in ages; are things going well for him?”

“I believe so,” Dayar was more enthused by the topic already, “I always considered him a friend. We have regular interactions at work, and I do my best to be timely with his requests, because I quite like him,” he smiled a little, despite vividly remembering the awkward conversation they’d had at Glain’s party. “He’s a sweet man, but a little bit odd sometimes.”

“Wait,  _ you _ are part of  _ that _ Edar family?” Enjam realized at long last. “You must be Demeny’s son,” he frowned a bit.

Dayar’s smile had stiffened.

“And why would that be?” he asked with a look that Enjam desperately felt he should understand but didn’t.

“W-well, because you’re too old to be Tul or Keteny’s, or Myka’s, and Kantar never mentioned a Dayar,” he frowned, “so that only leaves Demeny.”

“Who is infertile,” pointed Dayar, who was clearly having some mixture of fun and extremely not fun.

“Adoption is an option,” Enjam felt valiant but oddly misguided in his attempts at motivating his conclusion.

“You know Kantar, then,” came the question instead, which was almost affirmative.

“I’ve worked with his sons on cooperative missions more than once, and additionally, we have some Soukaran officers aboard so we drop by every once in awhile, and it’s-”

“-it’s strategically useful to keep in good graces with the local chef, I know, otherwise you might get poisoned,” smiled Dayar. “I’d ask you to pass on a message to the man, but then, that would imply I actually cared about him. Next question, please,” he burst into a grin, and Enjam swallowed a little.

“I find this conversation to be unsettling and un-Cardassian,” he thought to mention, at which Dayar shrugged.

“Everyday the Union grows smaller…” Iltarel muttered in stiff realization. “And so, you  _ also _ know His Dain?” he asked Delna instead.

“Institute years,” she grinned a little in a way that could leave more to one’s imagination. “He’s three years older than me, so he was always in the next level, and it’s good to have contacts with them. We liked to talk about animals on the transport to Tarlak, to get the law classes at Sidjartan,” she said more casually.

“And you became a psychologist,” Iltarel let her know that he knew.

“I’m certain you even know where exactly I work, Your Jarad,” she nodded, but looked at Dayar instead because  _ he _ probably didn’t know. “I’m in social services, so if you ever have couple issues, call me anytime – not that I wish you any trouble of course,” she laughed pleasantly. “In fact, I’d rather like to hear about couples who have it good, for a change.”

Dayar didn’t get a chance to answer however, as Archon Na’Dar appeared at the tribune and called for attention by ringing the gong in her back, which was as tall as a person and engraved with the symbol of the Union. The woman wore elegant robes and over-robes bearing the usual royal blue and black colors of justice, but embellished with golden patterns.

“Let the ceremony begin,” she said and everybody stilled and silenced as two doors opened on either sides of the room.

From the left one came Enar Dain, followed by his son. Both of them wore an ancient purple shroud on which the Dain family name was embroidered in emerald green. From the right side came Glain Rokat, followed by Elem. Both of them wore the fishing spear on their back, but Glain also carried the case in which he’d brought them. Enar and Glain gave way to the groom and bride as they reached the tribune, and let them stand in front of the Archon.

“His Sokal Dain and Her Elem Rokat have been brought forth to this tribunal of public civic rights to exert their right to the Cardassian rite of enjoinment,” Na’Dar spoke very intelligibly. “The request has been approved. Let the joining begin,” she rang the gong again and sat to look down at the couple. “Your Dain, you have offered to bring Her Elem Rokat into your family, to be for her a husband and haven of protection, and the father of her children. Do you understand the consequences of such an offer, as stated in the Cardassian code of jurisprudence?”

“Yes, I do, Our Archon.”

“Good,” she nodded. “And you, Your Rokat, have required to be disassociated from the Rokat family so to better be brought into the Dain family, to be joined with His Sokal Dain, as your husband, and be for him a wife and the mother of his children. Do you understand the consequences of such an offer, as stated in the Cardassian code of jurisprudence?”

“Yes, I do, Our Archon,” Elem echoed Sokal.

“Good,” Na’Dar appreciated not to have to state the entire passage. “Your Glain Rokat,” she turned to him, “please, proceed to the removal of your family’s token.”

“At once, Our Archon,” the young man bowed and approached to face Elem. He smiled at her as he gently detached the ribbon from the upper end of the spear. “I free you from my family, sister mine, and it is no sorrow but only joy that guides my act. I free you to see you happy and fulfilled as a daughter of Cardassia,” he spoke and carefully removed the spear. “Follow your path,” he added and went to put the spear into the case.

“Your Enar Dain, you may assist your son,” Na’Dar chimed.

“Thank you, Our Archon,” the man approached and removed his shroud. “To wear this token is an honor,” he said and Sokal took the cloth.

“And to pass it onto my wife is my honor,” the young man said as he wrapped the scarf around Elem’s neck. “In this intimacy, I welcome you into my family, to be my wife, my happiness, and the mother of my children… as I shall be the father of your children, a pond of joy for you to bathe in, and ...your husband,” he smiled warmly.

“And so the rite is completed,” the Archon said with a warmer voice. “Today, we have joined two Cardassians. A male and a female are now a couple. It is a beautiful day for Cardassia, and in the name of the State, I wish you happiness in the furthering of your duties to come, as spouses and as parents.” She paused, then added, “You  _ may _ display your affection in a civil manner.”

Sokal gave Elem a bright look and lowered his hood, and hers too. He held her and kissed her, and he wished it didn’t have to be so civil.

They were sweet, and the moment added a bit of wetness to Enjam’s eyes. Without realizing, he’d reached for Delna’s hand to hold it firmly, reassuring himself that she was still there.

Dayar on his behalf felt oddly claustrophobic, to the point where it became difficult to breathe. Once the ritual was  _ finally _ over, he excused himself and went outdoors to chill his lungs with the early evening air.

##  * * *

Inside, a friendly mingle ensued, and Enjam was quick to find his nephew just offstage.

“Glain, that was very expertly done,” he complimented him to his back.

“Thank you,” Glain turned around and then realized who it was he was talking to. He could barely believe it but smiled widely. “If I had known you’d come, I would have let you do the honor.”

“And had I known your father wasn’t going to come, I would’ve been prepared for it,” Enjam answered sincerely, then gesticulated toward Delna. “I have someone here who I believe might wish to talk to you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to exchange some words with the bride – once she’s free,” he realized as she seemed somewhat busy talking to Sokal’s parents.

“Ah, yes,” Glain looked hazily at Delna, not understanding why she was there.

“Hi, Glain…” she said a bit shyly, “it’s been a long time. Could you spare a moment?”

“If you’re going to apologize, I forgive you,” he replied hurriedly. “It’s long past and I know you didn’t want to do this either-”

“-Thank you,” she nodded, “but it’s something else. Please,” she smiled.

He hesitated then agreed to go a bit further away so they could talk out of earshot.

“I heard you’re looking for someone to enjoin and… I’m also looking,” she said. “Enjam suggested I should propose to you; I’m very fertile and I’d let you have a love life of your own if you’d keep it discreet,” she said, feeling almost like a part of her was choosing the wrong words on purpose.

Glain just stared at her.

“You’re serious,” he realized. “I… I didn’t mean this to be offensive, of course, it’s just that, it’s quite a surprise… And I think enough harm has happened between us. I’d rather not… I mean, I don’t think I would be the sort of husband a woman like you deserves, and ...I already have someone on my mind,” he gave her a very crisped smile.

“Of course, I understand,” she nodded. “Well, I’ve been courting someone too and…”

“That’s very good for you,” he nodded too, still awkward.

“...It’s your uncle,” she said and he kept on nodding, then rewinded and the head movement turned horizontal.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve been courting your uncle, Enjam. We’re planning to enjoin.”

He kept speechless for a moment, then nodded again with a short chuckle.

“Well, I suppose that’s good for you. I suppose I should warn you that my father might not be very cooperative. He’s… you know. Or rather, I hope you don’t. But maybe you’ll find out. Either way, I wish you two the best,” he gulped and left with his cramped smile.

She tried to stop him but he insisted that he had someone he had to talk to and walked away.

 

“Your Enjam Rokat,” Elem eyed him over with suspicion, and he could understand that she would, “here to celebrate my removal from your family?”

“I – no,” Enjam hadn’t expected that, and sent a quick glance to Sokal, who was stood protectively nearby. “I wanted to congratulate you on your enjoinment, and wish you a fertile, loving relationship,” he smiled a little and clasped his hands behind his back. “I was a little surprised to hear my brother cast you out of the house – I’m not sure what I missed, all I know is that I have a sister, and I’d like to know her,” he had to glance over his shoulder at Delna and Glain. Somehow, he wished he hadn’t left her with him, because he didn’t want her to enjoin Glain, not really.

“Just like that?” Elem caught his attention back.

“Just like that,” he confirmed with a nod, “I cannot hold you responsible for the way you were conceived. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re family – and that you’re not a threat to Glain,” he motioned backwards, where Glain had chosen to take the moment to wander off. “I was really only trying to protect him; I have none of my own, and he’s always been precious to me.”

“A very Cardassian instinct,” Enar appreciated.

“So, does this mean you will throw death threats at Elem’s enemies instead, now?” Sokal asked.

Enjam paled to an almost Iltarel shade of Cardassian and shook his head.

“I – no – yes maybe – eh, well, you see – and here comes Delna,” he hurried to back some steps to grab her hand and use her as a shield. “Everyone, please meet Delna Reyal, she’s very disorderly – I mean very distinct – I mean very dear to me,” he blushed instead. “I mean,” he rectified, “I’m courting her – I’m still courting you, right?” he realized that he might have handed her over to Glain, and the moment got even more horrifying.

“I do hope so, because I am still courting you,” she kissed his cheek. “There, that was very disorderly,” she commented and looked at Sokal who clearly didn’t know if he could snicker in amusement or if this was all kind of bad. “Oh, Five…” she shook her head and smiled at Elem. “Sokal and I knew each other during our years at the Institute. I guess we lost each other from sight when our career paths parted. I’m sure I could entertain you with a few stories about his younger self if you ever want to hear some…”

Elem’s lips finally burst into a bit of a laughter.

“I think I’d like that, actually –  _ especially _ if he minds,” she added with an amused glance towards Sokal, “do you mind?”

“I don’t!” he lied and Enar laughed.

“You shame me with a bad-faced lie? Are you trying to summon the Mogrund on your joining day?” he scolded him like a child, which made Delna laugh too.

“Alright, I’ll save the bride! Come,” she grabbed Elem’s hand, “let’s go before the Mogrund takes us all. I have many things to tell you, and some of them even are important,” she assured.

Elem followed Delna with curiosity, though she still looked behind her to see Enjam engaged in a clearly unequal conversation with Enar and Ketis, who had appeared too. She was half expecting the young woman to make up excuses for Enjam’s previous threats, and in a way, she was almost interested to hear what that reasoning might be.

“This building is really big, and yet it’s difficult to find a spot to be alone,” Delna said as they neared the main room. “Oh, well, I might tell you here,” she figured it was better to talk in in the corridor. “Sorry, I don’t know if Glain told you of our ah… common past, but if he did, I hope you ...don’t hate me or anything,” she apologized awkwardly. “I very much liked your nephew back then, and I am still greatly indebted to your family – your former family, I mean. And to you personally now. If not for you, my father might still be alive, and I’m really relieved he no longer is ...even if that sounds un-Cardassian.  _ He _ was un-Cardassian.” She paused, because she felt like she was drowning that poor woman under all that speech. “I’m sorry. The point is, I still care a lot for your nephew, and I hope you take good care of him. I’ve kept some tabs on him and I’m a bit worried for his… health, so to say.” She had more to say, but it was delicate of course.

Elem took embarrassingly long to realize it was Glain she was talking about – nephew, what nephew? – but then she nodded in agreement.

“I think of him as my brother,” she told carefully, “but I harbour no ill will toward you, and – ah, being rejected from the Rokat household, there isn’t much more I can do than to make sure he knows the Dain’s doors are always open for him,” she searched for the right words. “I think he might have argued with fa- with Nall.”

“His Enar Dain seemed to think so,” Delna nodded. “Oh, I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t be bothering you with such a grim subject on such a wonderful moment. The two of you looked so very magnificent,” she congratulated her. “It’s so good to see Sokal so happy after all this time. I’m glad he found someone. He didn’t have such a very good time after his graduation, and I can understand why now that I know his superior got demoted for hiring him as her assistant… A temper, Notator Sayad, but a very good one,” she nodded knowingly. “I’ve seen she came, and ...Doctor Crell Moset! Enjam told me he practically saved his life from Klingons once!” she went on with happy congratulating blabber while dragging Elem further into the main room so they could enjoy the buffet and the guests.

##  * * *

Kovat had made a strategic exit in a – he’d thought on the moment – timely fashion. The upside was that he was the only one to go to the exit right then. The downside was that he wasn’t the first, and that the two persons who had gone outside were quite busy doing things to each other that he wished he wouldn’t have seen – he didn’t want to get a trial-by-proxy, and so he’d opted to dive back inside and lean against the wall,  waiting, in hopes that it’d end so he could escape before Crell Moset spotted him or, even worse, recognized him.

Soon enough, Glain Rokat strode with a similar intention of getting out.

“Kovat,” he nodded at him but didn’t slow down, aiming for the door. He went out, but then back inside, stepping backwards and feeling a bit dead inside. “Hi,” he said to the Notator, looking at him awkwardly.

“Rokat,” greeted Kovat, then “hi,” as he nodded backwards, “are they still at it? I really wish I hadn’t seen that, it’s very disorderly and I don’t want to be called as witness to a trial later.”

“I… I’ll keep an eye on them,” Glain opened the door only slightly. He could barely believe what he was seeing. The fire, the passion, the shamelessness… Oh, he didn’t have to worry for those two. They were getting along perfectly, and so long as they didn’t end up for a night in detention, they’d do just fine.

“Ah, Kovat, there you are!” came a voice from behind them and Irimal Sayad joined them. “Reminiscing over His Rokat’s short stay at the Bureau, are you? Come, you have better things to do. I have someone to introduce you to, and you will submit and come, else I might decide your services are no longer needed in my department – and good luck finding another workplace – or I could maybe try to get you promoted to work with  _ him _ ,” she grinned toothily.

Kovat wilted a bit.

“Of course, Your Sayad,” he had to obey as he got off of the wall to follow her, already smiling, mostly as a reflex for survival. “I very much like my present job, but thank you for the offer, the gesture is most appreciated.”

She laughed at that.

“I do like you a lot, Kovat, you suck dick better than a comfort woman,” she said with such casualty that nobody around them reacted.

Doctor Moset was happily chatting with Delna, Elem and the Rokat children when they joined them.

“Ah, Crell,” Sayad grinned, “here is the one I told you about,” she dragged Kovat closer. “Arkeny Kovat. All he does is to talk about your or talk about bugs and mushrooms. He has  _ quite _ a collection of them. Alien specimens; I’m not even sure how he gets them.”

Kovat stared at Crell Moset and forgot to breathe for so long that black dots were starting to shape in front of his eyes. He tried to shape a word, but it wasn’t much possible without at first breathing. Then, he whimpered a little and tried to force air into his chest, but it was too late. By then it’d taken too long for him to say anything, so long in fact that it seemed entirely logical to just pretend he was mute.

“He  _ can _ speak,” Sayad assured. “He even has rather brilliant things to say at times; he’s young but he’s a very good Notator and performed extremely well in the exobiology cursus he had to take to work at the Bureau of Alien Affairs. Honestly? I think he deserves a better position. But he’s bound to work with us because,” she licked her palm and rubbed Kovat’s forehead, efficiently removing makeup and revealing the brown skin and a pale piebald spot, “he’s having issues to find better makeup,” she explained.

“There are ways to deal with this if it’s only cosmetic,” Crell observed, smiling. “I personally couldn’t care less of people’s skin color or hair length; so long as they are intelligent and can bring their best to Cardassia, that is all we can hope for,” he assured. “It’s a pleasure to see you more closely, Doctor Kovat. Don’t forget to breathe… maybe you’re lacking of air a little?” he worried and took his arm, patting it a bit.

“Oh, maybe the two of you should go to a balcony,” Sayad suggested. “Just make sure he doesn’t jump out of stress,” she required of Moset. “And you, Arkeny, you should tell the doctor that amusing anecdote about that Vulcan-Trill you notated – I’m not sure what was funniest between the fact you nearly killed him with the drugs, took him on a romantic date, or ended up stealing him away from Sokal’s guarding duty. Or the next day, when the Order took him; that was  _ most brilliant _ .”

Crell laughed at that.

“Now that’s a story I want to hear!”

 

They went to the balcony after Crell seemed to have drawn the conclusion that Arkeny really  _ was _ in need of fresh oxygen, and there, the Notator made his best effort to breathe in a most Cardassian way and explain that the story was far from being as interesting as Sayad made it sound. As he narrated his version, he pretended to be recording a log so to relieve his tension, going over the dosing mistake with the painkiller, his investment attempt for information at the restaurant and Kelar’s subsequent anger – “I still have to get her a bottle of Kanar. Or something,” he remembered, then continued with how he’d erroneously assumed to have guarding duty of the alien, and how he was relieved of him the next day by the Order (he didn’t tell however about how his bladder too was relieved by the same).

Crell Moset was positively enthused by the tale. And a bit sour, admittedly, that the Order would steal away such a fascinating hybrid as a Vulcan-Trill: as he put it, there was a lot to learn from alien species in studying how they could mingle as one, and whether science had to assist the procreation or not.

Then, without much of any formal request for permission, the doctor started to remove more of Arkeny’s makeup, using a handkerchief and saliva, to examine his pigmentation – “I like to see a man’s real face,” he told, although he was actually more bothered with the asymmetry induced by the spot cleaned by Sayad.

“It’s difficult to come by worthwhile specimens as an exobiologist, isn’t it?” he sighed while still grooming the other, since the task had begun and begged for completion. “It’s such a useful discipline, however; so much to learn, so much that can help Cardassia… including in our relationships with other nations. If we can cure the diseases plaguing others, it’s power. And kindness. I believe it’s very important to be kind. Like you, Doctor Kovat. You do seem to be a very kind man,” Crell smiled at him. “You have a very interesting pigmentation,” he switched topic, probing poor Arkeny with rather personal questions.

“I’m sorry I’m odd,” the Notator apologized on reflex, “and unfortunately yes, I have more spots on the body – and it’s highly hereditary as well,” he lamented about his little hope to ever enjoin. “I’m not even sure it would be responsible for me to procreate,” he admitted and swallowed some. “I think the reason you haven’t seen more people like me is because we often end up being picked as test subjects in lieu of being both un-Cardassian and conveniently Cardassian at the same time – my parents work in medicine, so they managed to save me,” he took a breath, realizing he’d forgotten to breathe again. “I don’t want to be experimented on,” he defended himself and tried to decide whether he should take a step backwards, or if that would be offensive enough that Moset would decide that he was indeed a qualified specimen to collect. “I haven’t done anything illegal.”

The doctor looked right and left and then leaned for to whisper: “ _ I have… _ ” then straightened up a bit again: “but I’m too good, so they can’t get me. And sometimes, they ask me to do things for them. So I’m rather safe. You should do that too. Don’t fear them: befriend them. And really, they don’t care so much about what people do,” he shrugged and started grooming the young man again with his handkerchief. “If they wanted to get you, they would have taken you with that alien. Perfect occasion… So you’re probably not on their radar. Or maybe you’re already quite good,” he approved. “What alien species of bugs and mushrooms do you possess then?”

“Ah,” Arkeny brightened up and conceded to show a video recording of some of his favorite nocturnal insects: some glow-in-the-dark bugs, who were busy trying to decide in which direction to roll a pine cone. The procedure took place via democratic means, and so it was a painful ordeal of beetles pushing from both sides until most everyone had gathered up on the same end, and some poor bastard always ended up getting slightly squished, being the last to change their mind.

“Hihi, they are quite smart, aren’t they? But by the time they’re getting it rolling, I’m certain they don’t even remember what the initial goal was,” Crell observed them with endearment – that truly was democracy.

“I collect them, and then I sort them, and breed them,” Kovat explained. “Natural selection is fascinating in how it sometimes favours the least conventional specimen. I’ve genetically engineered some of them,” he added as a side note, “mostly to change colors to see if their interactions would change – most species learn to cope exceptionally well, but some of them, well, they ate each other. I like breeding them the most, though, and the mushrooms too,” he smiled a little. “I’m especially fond of borata fungus – I wanted to use them to get rid of organic waste – corpses –” he specified, “so I wrote a paper for Central Command, but my assistant counteracted me and my paper got nowhere. She thinks the fungus would survive in a living host, thus rendering it too dangerous to use at such a grand scale. But considering the life cycle, that shouldn’t be possible; there’s no way it could survive on a live host for more than a couple of days, and in that short period of time, it would do virtually no damage – and then she threatened to test it on me, so I suggested we’d apply for live subjects, but it ended there, because no one thought it was an important enough research to spend any sort of funding on. So I guess that’s a war that will never end.”

“I think it’s very interesting! And very creative too. And ecological. I’ll see to it that you get your test subjects; I know some Archons…” Crell suggested with a wave of the hand. “And genetic engineering…” he approved. “Are you engineered? I am, although you probably know that already; everybody does. Except out of the Union – I had to keep it secret when I went into Federal space. They are a bit strange on that topic,” he shrugged.

“You think they’d make me speckled if I were engineered?” Arkeny couldn’t help but to look at Crell with a bit of scepticism at that, then remembered that he should keep careful, and straightened himself into something more proper on the instant.

Crell chuckled pleasantly however.

“You know, engineering doesn’t always go perfectly. Take me, for example. My parents had wonderful sleek Cardassian hair, which I inherited at birth. But ever since I was engineered, my hair became very sensitive and wild, which makes it very hard to comb, and which also makes it very hard to look proper. So, really, if you’d been engineered, your spots could be a side-consequence that wasn’t planned but happened anyway. We can’t control everything, else it’s not fun,” he grinned at him. “I quite like you, Doctor Kovat. May I call you Arkeny? And please, call me Crell,” he smiled most sweetly.

It wasn’t long before he suggested that Arkeny should show him his little collection, and because Arkeny was physically incapable of refusing anything to the doctor, they made to leave for the Bureau of Alien Affairs, with Crell blabbering a lot about many things that sounded rather disorderly.

Somehow, they ended up in the transport and he was still chattering, sometimes asking Arkeny’s opinion, which always went alongside his. Sometimes Crell challenged him a bit, and it was endearing how the young doctor fumbled to find his footing, blushing awkwardly in a very adorable way. He was quite cute this Doctor Arkeny Kovat, Crell thought. And what a great night they had, those two scientists.

Others, meanwhile, weren’t having it exactly as great.


	31. IV - Dysphoria

#  Dysphoria

 

Trembling at his own puzzling state, Dayar watched the moons lit up above, like a wish of fertility for the newly enjoined. The young editor wished them well, oh, he did, but the ceremony was haunting in the light of his own issues.

“It felt a little strange to see Elem with such long hair suddenly,” came Iltarel’s voice, and it seemed like the young man had just appeared by his side, looking at the moons too. “When I was a child, I used to have long hair,” he shared. “Long hair and dresses. It feels like another life entirely. A life in which I was pretty.”

Dayar hadn’t expected Iltarel to come after him so soon, and even less so with such words. He looked at his shamar with eyes that very clearly understood the implication.

“And then you got Notated as male,” he concluded and sought for the other’s hand. “Do you wish you weren’t?” he had to ask.

“I wanted to be a man so I could go to Bamarren and follow in my uncle’s tracks in the military, but that didn’t happen. If I’d been a woman, I would have gone in engineering, I would maybe have developed to be beautiful, but I suppose I wouldn’t have met Glain then, and wouldn’t have met you as a result, and I love you, Dayar. I’m so glad I met you,” he turned to him with warmth in his eyes. “I just feel like I should be the one to be the female for you to enjoin as the male you are. I wish it were possible this way. But maybe it is? Maybe there’s a way to… with organ creation… Maybe we should ask Doctor Moset?”

Dayar’s lower lip quivered and he had to lean back against the railing and look back at the sky to regain control over himself.

“There isn’t a way. If there were, infertility wouldn’t be a problem,” he steeled himself and closed his eyes to the world. “I want to enjoin you as Dayar – I want  _ Iltarel and Dayar _ to enjoin; I don’t want either of us to change who we are just to so we’ll be allowed to be together. I don’t want to have to become someone else to be deserving of your love.”

“But I already love you, shamar, and I love you as who you are, too…” Iltarel said in a soft, appeasing voice. “The State may have its vision and its cold rules, but warmth is where the heart is, and my love for you lives there, strong and real. I wasn’t always called Iltarel, but it is the name that came to be used before even my notation, because it was who I was. And you’ll always be Dayar, because nothing, nobody can change this ...and I don’t care if those words are un-Cardassian,” he whispered. “I love you, Dayar Edar.”

“But Dayar Edar is going to cease to exist once I turn thirty. He’ll die,” denied Dayar, “I’ll never be allowed to enjoin you – Iltarel...” he turned to his shamar and laid his hands against his neckscales, “I’m sorry.”

“No… that’s not true…” the albino denied. “I didn’t fall just for this pretty face and this handsome body of yours… It’s all part of you, I know, but Dayar is inside. And Dayar will always be there. A bit trapped, yes, probably, but I promise we’ll find a way to free him somehow…”

“I wish Cardassia could be proud of us, as we are,” he bit his jaws together and looked down at Iltarel’s chest, his hands sinking to rest there, fingers shaping into claws. “I feel like I’m an error in a book that will be edited before release. And the rest of the story will always hurt with the slight inconsistency that something isn’t there that used to be.”

Iltarel wasn’t sure what to say, because it was hard to find comforting words to this kind of hurt that couldn’t be alleviated, least cured. The sickness was in the law, not in Dayar, and the law wasn’t going to change.

“So what should we do?” he asked. “Should Dayar enjoy himself as much as he can until that day comes, as if it never would come?” he wondered.

Fear had made it into his eyes, and he realized he was truly afraid, because he knew there was a threat from which he couldn’t protect the one he loved. And it was terrifying.

“Kiss me,” Dayar asked instead, looking up at the other with tears welling in his eyes, “kiss me, Iltarel Jarad. And then you’ll take me home, and I’ll forget how other people’s joy makes me selfishly distraught.”

And so Iltarel kissed him, and shamelessly so. He kissed him again, and again, and caught his lips with his own, and teased him into more, and he couldn’t bring himself to care to wonder how indecent this was, because all he could care about was Dayar, and  how much he loved him and wanted to kiss him.

“I want to make love to you, Dayar Edar,” he moaned at last, in a voice hoarser than before.

“I thought that was obvious,” answered Dayar against Iltarel’s lips, all while clawing at his clothes and at his back – somewhere in the heat, he’d wrapped one leg around Iltarel’s hip, and there was no denying the desire that was growing in his shamar’s pants. “We could get arrested,” he realized at that moment, but his lustful mind somehow thought it was a risk well-worth taking.

“You’re right,” Iltarel chuckled, as if the possibility was amusing. “Take me home, then,” he kissed his jaw and then his neck, “take me to your bed, Dayar Edar. It’s where I want to be right now.”

“My bed is very far away,” Dayar whimpered, thinking of the train ride and how awkward it would be, and how they’d both probably end up aching with unreleased lust. “I hope you don’t mind the suggestion, but,” he disentangled himself and took Iltarel by the fingertips, leading him toward the train station, “we should try and board an empty wagon.”

“Maybe we should, yes,” Iltarel agreed, sight hazing a bit as his hips tried to rock against his lover. “Let… Let’s go,” he finally managed to step back and without a warning, he grabbed Dayar and lifted him onto his back to run towards the station like a Dayar thief.

Soon he had to drop him back on the ground so they could run better, but he was glad with his rather impressive show-off of strength.

 

Once into the station, they had to wait a bit for the shuttle to come, and made the wait shorter by standing next to each other, back against the wall, and hands going places unseen, groping buttocks and diving into pants. Traffic was low at this hour, and when the shuttle arrived, one of the wagons had only two persons in it. Iltarel gestured at Dayar to take a seat and neared the first man, who seemingly didn’t become aware of his presence until he was spoken to.

“You need to leave,” the albino told him, successfully startling him and scaring him off with a dangerous glare.

Such skills had to be useful at times, Iltarel figured. He repeated the operation with the woman in the back. The doors closed, and he returned to his lover with a smug grin and aching pants.

“I do want you,” he moaned as he collapsed onto his knees in front of Dayar’s seat, dropping his pants and underwear enough to free his erection. “I do want you,” he repeated while helping Dayar to pull down his own clothes to reveal his intimate parts.

Then Iltarel shivered and looked into his eyes.

“I’ve never done it,” he admitted, “although I’ve ...read books, and I think my body has ideas of its own,” he pressed his manhood against his lover’s cunt, which was as slick as himself was. “How do you want it to be, Dayar?” he asked breathing warmly against his neck and kissing the scales there. “Where do you want it?”

Dayar wrapped his legs around Iltarel’s hips, greedily shoving him closer, one hand at his chest, the other at his neck, then up to his hair, disordering it, then possessively grabbing hold.

“All over me,” he breathed out, then inhaled Iltarel’s scent, and claimed both a kiss and the mouth he invaded with his tongue.

Neither of them could fully believe they were doing this in the open, and that it felt so good and so right, when it was wrong and should feel wrong. Fear, fear lingered somewhere in the back of Dayar’s head, but he didn’t have the self-preservation instinct to listen to it, not after being reminded of his family again, of what awaited him – nothing could hurt him, because Dayar didn’t really exist.

“It’s really going to end up all over you if we keep on like this,” Iltarel could feel control slipping out of his grasp further and further.

That chubby bit of flesh he felt against his penis, between Dayar’s lips, he was quite certain it had to be his clitoris, and the notion that they were so close, that their most intimate parts were touching like this in such a sexual context, was setting him completely on fire. It was getting to be really wet down there as he was having issues to control his own fluids.

“Then b-by all means, do as you wish,” Dayar gasped. It didn’t really matter to him how he’d be taken – “I don’t care where you put it,” he urged as he dug his other hand in Iltarel’s mane as well, “you have seduced me, Iltarel Jarad,” he glared at him. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more, to kiss him or to bite his neck like some sort of primal creature.

Another gush of fire came over the albino, flushed a dark purple by those words, and with a hand, he guided himself inside what he found to be a very welcoming hole of warmth and wetness.

“State’s sake…” he muttered in a broken voice as he pushed further in, “this is it, this is it, Dayar Edar…”

He’d imagined this moment so many times since childhood. He’d imagined how romantic and proper it would be, with a woman. And since his relation with Dayar started, he’d imagined it again. And this, this was nothing he’d imagined would happen for their first time. His very first time.

“I must really love you for this to be happening,” he panted, “I’m so full of you, Dayar,” he moaned and offered his neck to him, moving inside of him like he was born for this task only.

With enough self-restrain, Dayar refrained from biting his shamar’s neck, instead biting on the air, brushing his lips against those strong scales, breathing on them, then whimpering a bit against them.

The penetration beneath felt rather strange, not at all like he’d expected it would – the people who wrote those books  _ clearly  _ hadn’t done so with his body in mind. Not that it was entirely unpleasant – he wouldn’t call it that. In itself, it was rather tolerable, but-

“I think I need more,” he admitted against his shamar’s neck, hoping he wouldn’t make him complexed or something, “Touch me,” he caught his hand and guided it down to places he knew he enjoyed, showing him how to  _ very gently  _ apply pressure and friction in the right places.

That, at last, brought him something more worthwhile, and he could feel himself rhythmically squeeze around Iltarel’s erection, which he hoped was nice for him.

And it truly was, way beyond physical stimuli. The emotion of the moment was such that Iltarel thought for a second that he was going to cry. He wasn’t sad; just overwhelmed, and tried his best to please his partner, finding that this focus allowed him to better hold onto his own desire.

For a second however, he thought he was about to blow, but then the shuttle stopped and the doors open. Nevermind, he just buried his face in Dayar’s neck and licked him there, lining his scales with his tongue tip, like he’d read in a book of rather illegal nature.

A couple came in, chatting, then silencing as they realized what the two men were doing, and they exited to probably join another wagon – Iltarel grinned.

“Good choice of them,” he purred and soon, the doors closed and they were back on the rail again, and he could let his mind wander down Dayar’s parts again.

It was such a delicate shape there, under his fingers, and the more he thought about it, the slicker things were getting inside. Too soon, he couldn’t retain himself and it all got extremely wet. It felt good, although he did feel a bit ashamed not to have lasted longer. He was still hard however, and so he kept on going, panting raggedly against Dayar’s neck.

“It’s my very first time…” he apologized in a murmur. He should have listened to Keelani and Glain.

What he was supposed to answer to that, Dayar wasn’t sure – it was his first time, too, at least with a man. They were wet, and he felt satisfied, even though he hadn’t really climaxed himself – he didn’t think he would though; Iltarel’s handwork was good but it was obvious that he didn’t have any prior experience. It was fine, because he could show him more later, when they weren’t in such an awkward position.

“Kiss me, then,” he urged him with an encouraging tug on his hair, “kiss me, shamar,” he murmured against his lips as he claimed him, or let himself be claimed, rather.

That was when the wagon came to a stop again, the doors opened and they could hear that someone had entered. Then, that someone cleared his throat, expecting some sort of reaction.

At first, Iltarel didn’t care to react as he was too busy kissing Dayar and expected the stranger would just leave like others had before, but then the man came forth and grabbed him by the neck, pinching him hard enough to get a yelp from him as he shoved him off Dayar. There, the albino realized the man was city guard and unamused.

“What have we here?” he looked down to where the lovers entwined and threw Iltarel on the floor – the young man tried to hurry to get his pants back on. “Yeah, you cover those shameful parts, you two. And wipe that mess while you’re at it. And your fingers; I don’t want your disgusting stuff on my PADD,” the officer sneered. “Identification,” he presented them said PADD, his other hand on his phaser, ready to draw it at any sign of retaliation.

Dayar pressed his thumb first, then Iltarel.

“A Public Records Editor and a filing clerk, part-time repairman,” the guard read. “Well, well, looks like we’re going to edit  _ your _ records, Your Edar…”

Dayar’s eyes teared up, something that hadn’t happened in a while. He felt gross already – Iltarel might have been able to clean himself sufficiently, but what was inside of Dayar hadn’t been possible to get rid off, and he tried to keep it in as much as he could – defying gravity, unfortunately, was as impossible as defying Cardassian law and getting away with it.

“It’s my fault, I suggested it,” he burst and made to take hold of the guard’s arm, “don’t hurt him, please.”

The guard smiled at him, almost as to say “you’re very cute.”

“Stay silent, will you?” he tapped his phaser as a reminder of authority, and glanced at Iltarel who had returned to a blanker state as he sat on the seat opposite to Dayar. The albino gave a small eye-smile to his shamar, as to say things were going to be alright, although he was about certain he was good for a rather unpleasant round. Meanwhile, the officer contacted the South Tarlak central for a beam up. Moments later, the three of them dematerialized.

##  * * *

“Take that one for hearing,” he shoved Dayar toward another officer as they rematerialized. “You come with me,” he told Iltarel and the albino had no choice but to follow him. The guard made a gesture to some other of his colleagues and they followed too.

“I want my uncle to know I’m here,” Iltarel said with a dry voice.

“I believe Gul Jarad went to Bamarren? At least that’s what his record says,” the guard grinned. “I’m sure he’ll find everything out on his own then.”

“I know my rights,” Iltarel muttered although he understood very well where all this was going.

He disappeared through the door and just gave a last glance to Dayar who was being taken to another place for a formal deposition. Iltarel’s own one was going to be much less formal, as he was led to a furniture-less interrogation room. There was nothing in there but him and several guards. They’d ripped his clothes and threw him naked and already a bit bruised in the middle of the room.

“Alright, come at me,” the albino fumed. “You want me to defend myself, else it’s not fun,” he spat hotly and the men gawked. “I know my rights,” he repeated.

“So who gets to be first?” one of the men said. “Davret, you found him, you should have a go.”

“I think you’re more eager than me even. Enjoy yourself, Kepet,” Davret crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

The others approved and Kepet came in front of Iltarel. Both men took a fighting stance, and Kepet started to land blows but only met the air and was sent onto the floor by the albino.

“He’s got spine for a clerk!” someone exclaimed.

“Who taught you those moves? Your Bamarren uncle?” another railed in a deep voice.

But as it turned out, those were good moves and Kepet never could hit Iltarel, and instead ended up with a bloodied nose and badly bruised ego.

Another man took the chance, performing hardly better, and so a third joined in at the same time. Iltarel managed well against them for a while, but one of them decided to get closer on purpose to crush his foot with a boot, and from there, the other caught the albino’s arms and the retaliation came strong and merciless. A number of kicks in the groin revived a nasty memory from Iltarel, but this time the position was different and he couldn’t strike back so easily. Punches landed on his abdomen and ribs, and when he tried to kick back, he was thrown on the ground and could only try to curl together and protect himself from the boots stabbing him. The searing pain prevented him from focusing enough to try and evade the men’s minds and interest, and the beating didn’t stop before his screams turned into cries and begging for mercy.

“We should fuck his sorry ass with something to teach him a lesson,” one of the men said with energy.

“No,” a deeper voice forbade. “That’s not an acceptable proposition and you’ll go through disciplinary measures for this, Tah’Dal! Now that’s enough! Get back to work, all of you!”

There was no opposition, and soon Iltarel was alone with the deep voice. The man kneeled by his side and grabbed his face.

“Do you know who I am, you little ridgeless shit?” the deep voice asked him, staring down at him with piercing black eyes.

Iltarel looked at him but couldn’t remember him.

“Of course you don’t. Nobody does. So when your uncle asks what happened to your face, you’ll tell him that you got some help to paint it into a more Cardassian shade, and you’ll ask him who else got his legs broken at the start of Second Level,” he spat and slammed the young man’s face onto the floor, once, twice, and then dragged him up by the hair and out the room, to the detention area in which Dayar had been brought to.

Iltarel saw his Soukaran lover spread naked on the floor, unconscious, and he thought he was getting really sick. The deep voice shoved him into the opposite cell, put on the forcefield and left.

Then, a bit later or so, Teval came and he did not look happy. The two men didn’t speak, but Iltarel cried. The military braced himself and took a chair for him, and a chair for Demeny.

##  * * *

Dayar hadn’t yet regained consciousness by the time Demeny arrived, and the man was initially so busy handling his PADD that he didn’t see the other man – he only realized he wasn’t alone when it turned out he’d brought a third chair.

“Ah, I thought I’d arrive first,” he mumbled as he made the quick decision to sit on the chair the other had offered to him, using the third one as a stand for his PADD.

He’d caught a swift glimpse of Dayar’s cell, enough to decide that he’d rather leave him some privacy until he’d come back to his senses.

“The good news is that I  _ think _ I can solve this discreetly,” he told the other without much ado, “the bad news is that ah,” he looked toward Iltarel, “even if I can strike gender confusion from the report, public sex is still very disorderly, and they’ll want to rebrand the crime into something else,” he pointed to his PADD, “I don’t know yet what it’d be but I guess we’ll know eventually. So...” he cleared his throat, “this is an awkward first introduction.”

The military nodded at that.

“I am Teval Jarad, but you already know that, I suppose,” he said. “It’s good Naker humiliated himself recently; hopefully he won’t try to interfere. I informed Glain about the situation, although I’m not entirely sure yet that he’d have much influence over anything, but then, that boy is more resourceful than he gives to see…” he sighed and looked at Iltarel. “They’re going to have to patch him up to a more decent state for the trial… that’s a bit excessive. He looks almost like a young taspar with those black spots everywhere.”

Demeny looked at the bruised young man, and could hardly believe it was the same one he’d had over for dinner.

“There’s something about this I don’t understand,” he told Teval in a hushed voice, “they are both very proper, not to mention orderly, so how did this happen? It  _ is _ possible that this entire situation was staged, or at least forced by exterior means,” Demeny went onto some theories of nasty schemes and plots that would have sooner fit in an enigma tale.

“I am very sorry to say that I can’t vouch for this one,” Teval wearily pointed at his nephew. “You see, Your Edar, some books have a disastrous influence on kids. All those stories of perfect young men and women staying abstinent and proper for until their first true romance…” he squinted a bit accusatively, because that was something he could blame Demeny for, at least a little. “And then you have this one, who wanted to be purest than the law,” he sneered. “Men aren’t meant to stay abstinent, and see what happened just now. So,” he turned to Iltarel, “did you pounce on him like that sex-starving creature you’ve turned yourself into?”

“It’s not how it was!” the albino glared at him with tearful eyes, darker than ever. “He was sad… he just wanted to… I don’t know. Forget problems, I suppose, forget rules, forget stupid laws…”

“That is good,” Demeny nodded slowly, and motioned to Teval to say nothing, addressing Iltarel instead, “What  _ you mean _ is, you detected a weakness in Dayar that threatened his safety, and instinctively, you tried to protect him by means of distraction – and his feeling of distress was so strong that the response had to be strong too, no?” he nodded a bit to his own conclusion. “After all, you really do love him,” he added with a bit of a baffled expression, “you could have just proposed, you didn’t have to fuck him on a train.” It was meant to be a joke, but he wasn’t sure he found it funny even himself.

“Actually, I sort of did,” Iltarel said weakly. “Elem and Sokal looked so beautiful… I must have been a fool to think… and look at us now.”

“I see,” Demeny looked over his shoulder at Dayar, who had moved – further away into the cell, where he was virtually one with the shadows in the upper right corner.

“I asked him to stun me,” came the broken mumble, “so don’t argue with them. I’ve been well-treated.”

Demeny’s shoulders slumped a little.

“Why would you ask for a stupid thing like that?” he lectured him and got up to stand in front of the forcefield.

Then he noticed the trail of bodily liquids leading from the point where his nephew had been thrown, all the way up to where he was sitting, and winced a little.

“The guard told me you didn’t fill out the form. Why didn’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me, so you’re going to tell me.”

There was silence, and Demeny decided he couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Please....” he begged in a voice that was threatening to break apart any time.

“Because I refuse to get treated any differently from Iltarel.”

The answer wasn’t satisfactory, not to Demeny, even if it was the truth. It still wasn’t what laid beneath truth. The Editor composed himself a little, then went to sit on the chair that had the back turned to Teval, and leaned his face into his hands.

“I’ll get us tea,” Teval got up and left to give Demeny some privacy.

He intended to take his time and check his PADD to see if there was any message from Glain. There were none, which probably wasn’t too surprising yet, although there most certainly were people working at the Ministry during night shift. Justice never slept.

He decided to see if he could get some food out of the replicator while he was at it, and managed to find something that looked edible, like some sort of buns with salty fish. He was about to return to the detention area when his PADD chimed and he stopped to pick up the call.

“ _ Can you do a favor to Kemer Loran and find a good internship for his son who is at Dekaris? Third Level. Got kicked out of service by Gul Evran; he needs a new position quickly, _ ” Glain asked in a weary voice.

“Should be possible. What do we get for it?”

“ _ If you can do this, young Archon Loran will take the case and set up young Conservator Kolat on the trial, and because they’re both young, the case will end up on the law channel, low-audience times. That’s all I have to offer. _ ”

“Thank you, Glain. I’ll contact Loran for the details of the position. Are you planning to come here…?”

“ _ No. Goodnight, Teval, _ ” Glain just said and the communication ended.

He must be greatly disappointed in his luzzur, the man figured and returned to Demeny with hot fishmilk, buns and the good news, which he told while texting to Loran.

“Glain?” Demeny echoed in disbelief, “Do you trust him?” he continued up with, “I mean, considering that Iltarel went ahead and courted someone Glain was considering for himself, maybe it’s a trap.”

“What?” Teval blinked. “You did what to your own luzzur?” he turned to Iltarel. “Trying to reenact  _ Nefarious Night _ , are you?”

“Uncle!” the albino protested.

“Did you betray him?”

“I… I don’t know, no, I didn’t! He told me he’d rather keep me as friend than lose me over Dayar…” he said hesitantly. “We’re still luzzurs. I don’t think it’s a trap. Glain wouldn’t do that. I know he wouldn’t because he’s more loyal to me than I’ve been to him,” he bit his lips and sat back against the wall.

“I’ll have Pitir prepare subi biscuits,” Teval grumped anyway. “If anything, Glain will certainly remember we were kind when  _ he _ got into trial.”

“Then tell Pitir to make them extra alcoholic because we might all need a good dose of Kanar,” Iltarel gulped.

Demeny got up from the chair and set the fishmilk and his bun on the chair instead.

“Where are you go-”

“You still need to fill out that form, Dayar,” he interrupted his nephew, “and I’m going to  _ ask _ someone for it. And if you say no, I’ll send for Kantar.”

There. He’d done it, he’d gone across the line, and he didn’t even care to look behind him – if he had, he would’ve seen Dayar’s horror-struck face, and it was something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Teval easily guessed who Kantar was.

“And if he comes to this, I’ll call Denek, see how much he likes it,” he added for Iltarel. Then groaned at his PADD. “Now that’s the trap…! Glain could have told me that this kid got kicked out for ridiculous sexual deviance… That’s disgusting,” he shook his head. “When you think you’ve done something bad, there’s always one who did it worse. How do you even do such things with a snake?” he winced. “Actually, I’d rather not think about it.”

 

Demeny returned a bit later with both a PADD and the intern who had processed Dayar, tipping the poor youngster about checking his clients’ background information before just stunning them on-demand. The youth listened awkwardly, and nearly left without deactivating Dayar’s cell’s forcefield to let in Demeny. He didn’t stick around for much longer, leaving the Soukaran uncle to delve into boring administration forms with his nephew.

“Now, I understand why you’d prefer unconsciousness to this task, but if you don’t do it,  _ I’ll _ be the one to get in trouble for it,” Demeny tried to somewhat fuel his motivation. “And yes, it’s boring – it’s supposed to be.”

He looked out through the forcefield, especially longingly so at the fishmilk and bun that he now wished he would’ve brought with him inside. Teval caught that glance however and brought  the food and the two free chairs inside the cell – he had the clearance to control the forcefield; he wore his armor. Then went to get something for his nephew and asked to be given a dermal regenerator so he could get in and care for him.

“Feels like when you were a child,” he murmured.

“I wasn’t so tall then. Didn’t have so many bruises either,” Iltarel muttered but let him do.

“That doesn’t change anything,” the man denied softly.

“Did they really have to make them naked?” Demeny raised his voice and asked at Teval. “Is it standard procedure or something?” – he himself wouldn’t know; he’d never been arrested.

“It isn’t, but it’s common policy to humiliate sex offenders in such a manner. Usually, officers come to gawk at them too, but it’s not the wisest thing to do around a gul,” he muttered, “...or a Chief Editor, for those who know what that title really means,” he sighed and straightened up. “You can bring clothes to the Ministry later. In fact, you’ll have to, because I don’t expect we’ll see the ones they were wearing ever again.”

“They ripped mine,” Iltarel said disgruntledly. “It was my favorite jacket.”

“Serves you right. You’ll think about your clothes next time you want to have sex in public,” Teval was unmoved. Although, come to think of it, “It  _ was  _ a nice jacket… quite a pity.”

He silenced as a woman entered the room. She was from the Ministry of Justice.

“Visitors, please exit the cells,” she said and went to open the forcefields, starting with Iltarel’s cell. “The prisoners will now be taken into the custody of the Ministry of Justice. No visits are allowed. Clothes may be brought for review within the next fifteen hours. Do not try to pass any message or goods through the clothes. Not only it will fail but you will be severely punished. Family members and legal representatives may consult the Ministry’s board of trials to learn of the date, hour and channel at which the trial will be aired. Please do not pester Ministerial services with questions to which you can find the answers on your own. If you wish to testify, please contact Archon Sulial Loran within ten hours,” she explained. “Prisoners, please stand up in your cells and get ready for beam up.”

Demeny helped Dayar to get to his feet, and then held him close, stroking his hair slowly.

“I’ll be there,” he promised him.

He knew he should let go, and the more he knew, the more difficult it became – it felt like he had to let go of Dayar forever, and it brought tears to his eyes that, eventually, he failed to hold back as he hurried out of the cell, unable to hide his distress otherwise than in the back of his hand.

The last thing he saw, was Dayar lifting his hand at him to wave, but the beam-away took him before he could finish.

Some quivering breaths and a napkin to the face later, Demeny turned to look at Teval – he really wanted company, but he didn’t exactly feel like telling any more people about what had just transpired with his nephew.

“Say, would you care to join me for a cup of tea? I’ve got all the traditional brews,” he asked him with eyes full of emotion, most of them the begging kind.

The military looked at him, hesitant. He could return to his beloved wife, who was very much pregnant, or take up the offer.

“I… I don’t really enjoy civil moments while formally dressed,” he gestured at his armor, then looked at those wet eyes and sighed, “...but well, I  _ suppose _ I could use a cup of tea.”

“Good, because I really wasn’t in a mood to be all alone,” Demeny thanked him gratefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	32. (IV) - A cup of tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter with Teval and Demeny

#  A cup of tea

The train ride had  been silent, but not awkward, as they both knew why they were silent and could relate to each other’s choice to not say a word.

Demeny’s flat was as he’d left it – the lights in the hallway and dining room were still comfortably illuminated, and he showed to his guest where he could discard shoes and apparel, if he wanted to feel less heavy.

“I’ve got general-cut robes in the bathroom, if you feel like that armour is really chafing at you,” he suggested with a gesture to the bathroom door: “They are soft like nelna petals and smell like it too – I bought them in Torr, in the market,” he wasn’t sure why he shared that detail. “I’ll be in the kitchen, setting the water to boil – I don’t use the replicator so much, it’s very expensive for what it is.”

“I’m thankful for anything that doesn’t come from a replicator,” Teval appreciated and went to the bathroom to get changed.

It was a cozy room, with a childish decoration hung near the mirror, and he smiled at it while getting out of his armor. While he did like his gear, it wasn’t most comfortable to be in for sitting on a non-military chair, drinking tea.

Demeny’s bathrobes were soft as promised, and fragrant too, and the military found himself smelling them a bit before closing them around his chest. The soft yellow color was something unusual for him to wear, but he didn’t mind.

“Did Dayar make that windchime in the bathroom? It’s very sweet,” he commented a little awkwardly.

“Ah, it  _ is _ sweet, isn’t it?” Demeny returned from the kitchen to place on the table a large tray containing two cups, a stone pitcher and three jars of tea leaves, “It was a gift for his eleventh birthday, from a family with whom we were rather close to at the time,” he smiled. “She’d recently been widowed when she moved here, and we signed a contract to be each other’s male and female role models, so we could keep our respective children. I am glad the children got along as well as they did – would you like anything in your tea? I’ve even got sweet Kanar if you feel you need something to soothe you.”

“Ah, yes, that would be welcome, thank you,” Teval welcomed the proposition and sat, looking around a bit. “It’s a very cozy place… I take it Iltarel went here before? I mean, how did they meet? Our nephews.”

Demeny poured Teval some water and pushed the jars to him to welcome him to make the choice himself, then he smiled a bit. At least it was a good story.

“Glain Rokat approached me at work to ask me to allow his pursuit of my... my child,” he went to the kitchen again to get the Kanar, “After telling him that such would be  _ unacceptable  _ after such a short time of knowing one another, I decided to invite his best friend here, to see what he had to say for him and for himself. So,” he popped back out, set the bottle on the table and himself too, since he was feeling better about himself in an elevated position, “I cornered your nephew and invited him for dinner, so I could see his opinion on Glain. There was  _ passion _ almost instantly, though I’d have to describe it as mutual dislike at first – still, intense feelings one way can easily shift, and at the end of it, they didn’t dislike each other so intensely anymore,” he took his cup and poured some yellow leaves into it, smelling the bitter aroma with a sigh. “I spent most of that dinner in the kitchen: I don’t pry.”

“I see,” Teval winced and picked a fragrant herbal tea with berries. “So  _ you _ are Her Broca, then?” he accused Demeny. “Aiming at a luzzur to get to the other one…”

“Is that what you think she was there for?” asked Demeny, who was glad to get into a topic he was more familiar with. “You don’t much like  _ Nefarious Night _ , do you? If I may be curious, what about it is it you dislike so much? Broca? – It’s a personal interest; it’s one of the first books I had to edit, so I’m a bit sentimental.”

“I didn’t read the book, I watched the holonovel – Gul Oran however  _ loved _ the book and the holonovel,” he said and shrugged. “I personally found it to be rather ah… strange and uncomfortable to watch. That luzzurhood, it was… It was a bit too much the way they did it, at least in the holonovel…”

“I do like how faithful the holonovel is to the original,” agreed Demeny, even though it wasn’t the point that Teval had tried to make. “But that is why Broca is there. See, that luzzurship, is only a luzzurship because two men cannot refer to each other as shamar – I do not blame the author for trying to cover it up with Her Broca, even if it was a bit of a blunt tool – and then there was that one sex dream that I had to edit out,” he shared as he sipped his tea and studied the man in his robe – like most military men, he was regal and had a beautiful posture, one to be envied. It was especially tantalizing considering the contrasting fluff-gown.. 

Demeny cleared his throat and continued.

“It was a very honorable attempt at getting this kind of erotica printed for other audiences than women-only, but in books, even a dream can be illegal.”

Teval nodded. Then realized which characters Demeny had implied were involved and froze a bit.

“Wait. Now  _ that _ is very disorderly. A deviant romance disguised as a luzzurship? That’s right! Now you say it, that’s what it was… And you allowed that? That’s not nice to luzzurs out there…” Then he remembered what more Tasandine had told him that day and snorted. “Not that I would actually know what luzzurship means exactly...”

“Luzzurship can be anything,” Demeny shrugged and offered Teval some more sweet Kanar to go with the shocking revelation, “some luzzurships involve sex, others involve romance but no sex, some of them are just fusional, others are more like a logical pact and a beacon of safety,” he sipped his own cup and took a deep breath. “But there’s nothing illegal in that book. My job isn’t to turn things from disorder to order, my job is to make sure the law is followed, and it’s not the same thing. You do not like romantic luzzurships, then?” he asked further, “You’ve never indulged in the fantasy? It’s very common – a close follow up is step-sister, step-mother, and eventually, father’s comfort woman. I still don’t understand entirely why  _ I _ have to review those holoprograms.”

“ _ You _ have to?” Teval wasn’t sure what he was more outraged about. “Don’t you have people who work under you? Normal editors? What’s the point of being Chief Editor if you still have to do this kind of work?” he asked, because it was more comfortable than talking about his personal fantasies.

Demeny slipped his left leg over his right one to better lean his elbow against his knee.

“It’s a privilege,” he told cryptically with an amused smile. “The truth is that those programs are usually made by independent citizens or otherwise shady workshops. I have special instructions to keep spread of their material to a minimum – my job is mostly to look if there’s any hidden messages in there that shouldn’t be,” he sighed. “To be honest, I prefer that to those days when religious or otherwise un-Cardassian thinkers get trialled, because anonymous submitters always peak in quantities at those times, and it’s usually with ancient texts that are already banned. And I’m legally bound to read through the entirety of them each time they are submitted – and that’s why those terrorists do it. Because they, for some reason, think that bothering me will aid them in their goals,” he snorted, “there are certain groups, Your Jarad, that you should do well not to impress, or else you’ll end up doing their dirty work forever, and you have to smile while you do it,” he raised his cup to the camera in the right corner of the ceiling, even though he knew it wasn’t actually filming him.

“I see… We never get to completely enjoy our work, or do we?” Teval nodded. “Well, I guess I should maybe go check on my wife…” he said tentatively.

“The cameras are off,” Demeny casually replied, “if there’s  _ anything _ you want to talk about, this is a good place. Or, rather,  _ I’d _ like to talk,” he admitted in a slower voice as he left the table and sunk into the chair instead. “I want you to know I’m sincerely sorry for what’s happened – I have failed to raise my son to understand the value of discretion. In the end, it is in part my fault – I tried. I’ve always been discreet myself – I’m infertile,” he thought to share, “so I tend to... I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear this,” he realized his disorderliness. “The point I’m trying to make is that, I did my best. I thought I’d managed at least that. And I hope they won’t take him from me. And I’m scared.”

The fear of losing a child was something Teval could strongly relate to.

“I understand,” he leaned forth and sipped some tea-with-Kanar. “I don’t want to lose Iltarel either, especially now that his father seems to have realized that this child exists, now that his elders are dead, his other son became infertile and the girls enjoined into other families and went to live off-world. I’m infertile too ...or I was, rather. According to doctors, I still am, yet my infertile wife is pregnant – but what I mean is that Iltarel and Pitir are my sons, and I’m not losing either of them. I’m not trading them. I’m not… letting go of them. We’re not letting go of our sons, Your Edar,” he reached for his hand and squeezed it.

Demeny smiled a little and squeezed Teval’s hand back. They sat in silence, looking at the tea still sinking, sinking along with it into drowsiness.

“I remember the day I got Dayar like it was yesterday – when he got notated as male rather than female, Kantar got so angry he left him here. He lied,” he added, “he told the child the both of them would be leaving in the morning, and little Dayar spent the entire day – I was at work – waiting for morning to arrive. I think, perhaps, he was under the impression that morning wouldn’t come unless his father came too, because he couldn’t conceive of the idea that Kantar would’ve lied to him,” he turned to Teval. “How did you get yours...?”

“At the hospital,” Teval held Demeny’s hand. “I was on duty, but Denek called me insistently, and since it was a rather calm day in Cardassian space, Gul Oran let me go. My brother was quite upset because the baby was so white… He was thinking of abandoning it, but Mira refused to let go of the baby. I was upset too, with how Denek treated both his child and me, starting to police my life already. He called our father, who was upset too and decided I should obey my older brother. He’s just  _ one _ year older, you know…” he added surely. “For two years, I had to live in his house, sharing space between a moldy wall and a curtain separating me from the twins. The pettiest thing my brother did was to forbid me any sexual life, for the children’s sake, he pretended,” he snorted. “Then I couldn’t take it anymore and moved out with Iltarel. I kept on seeing Mira so we could share parental responsibility, but when Pitir was born with Lukan’s syndrome, Denek refused to admit he could have fathered a mentally-impaired child and imagined  _ I _ , the infertile one, was the father of both Iltarel and Pitir. He forbade me to see Mira again for years, and I had to take a female referent. Not that it was bad… Tasandine was ...very good…”

Demeny thought about Kantar, and couldn’t imagine he would’ve ever kept a child with any sort of defect, which made him realize something, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so he threw that thought away.

“You had them since they were babies?” he envied that a bit and smiled a little at the idea of Teval holding an infant and cooing at it. “I barely got to see Dayar when he was a baby – my brother had a perfect family, and I... well, I never will, so I didn’t go visit. I regret that now, I wish I would’ve seen Dayar when he was tiny. You know how it is with babies – the tiny little chufa, so soft…!” he melted into tears for a little bit, but didn’t mind.

Teval smiled in reminiscence.

“It’s very precious, yes… When Pitir was born, I argued strongly with my brother, and Iltarel, who was only just three, took the baby and she wouldn’t let go of him – Iltarel was a girl back then, and sometimes became a boy later; childhood allows that,” he excused. “I found her with the baby and she told me his name was Pitir. She named him that because of his upside down little chufa, like a little dew drop,” he teared a little too. “It was such a beautiful moment and I knew that those two, they really were my children, even if I didn’t father them…” his voice broke a little and he tried to discreetly mop his eyes with a fluffy yellow sleeve.

“Those instincts, they are so very strong,” agreed Demeny who couldn’t keep from crying some more, now that he wasn’t the only one crying. “I’m sorry, I should’ve brought some napkins,” he excused as he got up and headed for the kitchen, forgetting to let go of the other’s hand and stopping stupidly instead of letting go.

Teval looked at their extended arms and stupidly got up instead of letting go too.

“I’ll help you,” he said, looking over the somewhat-taller-than-him man.

There was a moment of hesitation, and it felt strange. It felt like this strange feeling he’d had while watching  _ Nefarious Night _ , which was also a feeling he’d had many years before, as an Institute student, when talking and plotting with Two Revak – Enjam Rokat, as a matter of fact. How close they were then. A pity Enjam had to betray him. Teval had to wonder if it was a premonition.

“Do you betray your friends, Demeny Edar?” he asked him in a way that felt uncomfortably vulnerable.

“I didn’t get to where I am by betrayal, Your Jarad,” Demeny answered to that question, “if anything, I extend myself until I grow thin, but I still make sure I get enough back to keep on top in the end. Are you planning on betraying someone?” he moved closer, rubbing a finger over the other’s hand. “No... you’re not,” he figured, “you’re an honest man, I can see that in your eyes. You’ve  _ been _ betrayed, haven’t you? I won’t hurt you or yours, Teval Jarad.”

“Thank you,” Teval closed his eyes, afraid of what more Demeny might see in them. He felt like maybe he should disappear, but he was too exhausted. “I… I must admit this situation feels quite strange,” he opened his eyes again but looked at the man’s chest instead. “It might be the heat,” he smiled apologetically. “It’s probably the Kanar – I don’t drink a lot ...for a military, that is,” he frowned in slight anxiety, getting this softer expression again, almost vulnerable.

“You should’ve declined, if you thought...” Demeny trailed away; he didn’t want to argue, nor did he want to take advantage of someone who thought themselves under the effect of alcohol – not that it was very possible, considering the sweet Kanar was really very thin, and had been mixed with tea.

“If you’d rather not go home and risk waking your wife, I have ample of space in my bed,” he proposed nonetheless.

Teval felt warmer yet and a distinct blush started to spread under his neckscales, like a promise of arousal, or enticement at least.

“That’s… very kind of you to offer. It’s true my wife needs all the sleep she can… Pregnancy… It’s how it is, apparently…” he gulped and kept his eyes down. “I might be getting a bit of a fever, however, maybe I should sleep on a chair,” he suggested. Something smelled good, and it wasn’t the tea or the Kanar.

Demeny chuckled a little.

“And I certainly didn’t get this far by asking my guests to sleep on the chairs,” he added with amusement and a little bit of pity – this one really was in denial of his desires, and that made it all the more important to keep gentle. “Come, I’ll show you my bedroom,” he led the feverish Jarad into his spacious bedroom, where the sheets were still open like he’d left them in a hurry.

“These are my fish,” he gesticulated to the illuminated fish tank in the other end of the room. Streaks of gold, copper and white twirled around in there. “They are decorative – someone got them for Dayar, and then I inherited them. I think he was mostly disappointed he didn’t get a snake, and I can understand that; you can’t cuddle a fish.”

“Ah, yes, indeed,” Teval approved. “They’re very pretty, at least. And that’s a very cozy room, you have. Very…” he looked around and shivered, “Very, very…” he just said as his eyes fell back on Demeny.

He felt like he was starting to sweat and he still didn’t know why. Then, something started to heat in his underwear and he flushed entirely.

Demeny saw the realization and was grateful that Teval hadn’t yet decided to act like a child and run away. Comfortingly, he got closer – smaller distance could serve to rid some of the shyness. He ran his fingers through the fuzzy texture of the robes, touching the military’s chest through it.

“Do you need help getting out of that?” he suggested huskily.

“I… I’m enjoined now… this shouldn’t be ...and you’re a male,” Teval protested. “I don’t understand, and why are you…? Why are you indulging me instead of ...being disgusted?” he asked in confusion.

Demeny took Teval’s hands and hummed calmly.

“Because every once in awhile, everyone needs to be cared for – and I like to care,” he answered with reassurance, “I’m indulging myself too, see? It’s not inequal.”

“It’s still improper! I’m enjoined and you’re a man!” Teval raised his voice a bit but then silenced himself because it wasn’t the only thing that had risen some more. “This kind of thing, it doesn’t normally happen to me… I’ve been faithful ever since I enjoined,” he said. “You’re not a comfort woman. It’d count, and the fact you’re a male makes it worse and illegal, and if my wife knew, she’d be… probably devastated.”

Demeny let go of Teval’s hand and stroke his cheek with a sorry headshake before he went to sit on the bed and undress.

“People’s wives usually enjoy me just as much as their husbands do,” he mentioned casually, “but you’re right, I’m not a comfort woman. I don’t profit from it, other than from the residue benignant feelings between myself and my vast collection of... luzzurs, I guess you could call them,” he looked backwards with a smirk. “You wanted to know the extended meaning of the word. And it’s not illegal to have luzzurs.”

“And what would you think of it if it were Iltarel cheating on your son with… his luzzur. With Glain?” Teval clung to the bathrobe.

At least, that thought seemed to calm his arousal a bit because he didn’t actually think of his son and Glain like that. It was disorderly and probably very far from reality even if those two could be very tactile – but it was just that and it wasn’t sexual between them, at least in Teval’s world.

Demeny surprised himself by snorting a bit.

“I think that would’ve been very nice. For Glain,” he pulled off his pants and slipped in under the blankets. “Listen, I understand if you don’t think much of what I’ve offered you, but sometimes, the only way to save a relationship is to  _ broaden _ it. Not everyone is fit to live with just one partner – ancient texts, which are banned, but no one cares because no one knows we’re having this discussion – will have relationships of three or more be the norm, and in some cultures, sensual interactions were very much the norm. You might think that’s the sign of uncultured barbarians, but I tend to think that, since they are all our ancestors, that says something about the  _ animal _ we, as a species, are.”

“That’s why… comfort women exist,” Teval shivered while taking off the bathrobes at last.

He hesitated, then removed his underwear too and slipped under the sheets, resting on an elbow to retain some height. He was a soldier, and he wasn’t the sort to run away from danger. He knew when to go forth toward confrontation and when to retreat.

“I’m a ballistic officer in strategic operations,” he said and laid his hand on Demeny’s chest, “I know you’re right, but how do I know it’s not a trap? You’ve been cautious of traps before, and I know that people are often afraid others will do to them, what they know themselves capable of doing to them…”

Demeny shifted so that he could see Teval better – he was very handsome in the darkness, and it really only made him more attractive to think that he’d raised his brother’s two children, and that in a sense, Demeny had never met a man with whom he had that much in common before.

“I’m not capable of it. I’d be capable of reading, editing and perhaps even writing a book of it – and why would I trap you, Your Ballistic Officer?” his eyeridge twitched in genuine questioning. “I essentially survive by being cute – I’m a Soukaran  _ and _ the Chief Editor of Cardassia Prime. I wouldn’t get anywhere by casting a shadow; I’m already too dark for that, no... wherever I am, I am because others generously let me be there. I live off of other’s mercy. Only sometimes do I wish I didn’t have to.”

“I see…” Teval made himself more conquering by exploring that uncharted chest. “I guess that makes sense. To be born on Prime is a boon, or maybe a curse for the Union… We could probably use more input from off-world, or at least, that’s what I suggest when I feel daring. You know a lot about bodies and relationships, don’t you?” he squinted but smiled. “Would you know why we’re in your bed, in this position? Why I am pursuing this when I should be with my pregnant wife; a woman I love with all my heart – why else would infertile people enjoin if not love?”

“I don’t think your body is very aware that it’s infertile,” Demeny told him with a chuckle, because he’d found that part especially amusing, “and I would guess that her hormones – airborne, by the way – might have a latent effect on your ah, drive for intimacy and seduction. You  _ are _ seducing me, but I think mostly because your body needs a little bit of comfort while at the same time refraining from disturbing your  _ very busy wife _ . She needs a break, doesn’t she? Deserves it even, I would say.”

“Affirmative, I reckon,” Teval nodded and pressed Demeny onto the mattress so he could come closer and slither on top of him, quite like he was used to do with women. “But I am attracted by you, and that’s not normal,” he still argued. “You smell good… it’s not something I’ve paid attention to in a man in a long time. Not since long-gone Institute years… There was a man then,” he nodded. “We could have been luzzurs; I probably wanted us to be. It wasn’t sexual however.  _ He _ didn’t have a sexuality. Everybody feared him,” he grinned.

“I like the premise of that story,” purred Demeny, who could very well picture it as a draft he’d have to reject but would keep for his own reading pleasures. “Did you fear him too? If you  _ could have been _ luzzurs, I am assuming you were friends.”

“I feared him a lot, at first, yes,” Teval remembered. “He was in the next Level, three years older than me… Impressive age different in such years. He was talented, intelligent, handsome, and very hard to distract. He beat me a number of times during certain exercises, and he didn’t hold back the blows, that man… But I believe we grew respect for each other. He approached me when my skills had matured enough to be of use to his section’s plans, and we grew closer. I wasn’t the only one, of course, but I certainly felt like I was the only one, sometimes. I wanted to believe I was… I gave my all for him and our plan succeeded… I was exhilarated. Then a party was thrown, to which I wasn’t invited of course, and some students had sneaked Kanar in to make him talk. And he talked. And he betrayed us all, younger students who had betrayed our own groups for him. Retaliation was hard. Two broken legs. My parents could afford the medical care needed for me to continue studies, but others didn’t have that fortune and they’re still bitter enemies… I believe one of them, whom I had personally recruited, works in the city guard now, in that central of Tarlak South…” he pinched his lips. “The bitterness of those years doesn’t fade easily, Demeny.”

Demeny made a sorry  _ oh  _ and stroked Teval’s arm slowly.

“I  _ am _ glad I went to an Institute of intellectual arts – the worst that ever happened were that people stole each other’s research, cheated on assignment and, in the rare case of someone exceptionally clever, altered other students’ work files – I especially remember one time...” he chuckled a bit, then interrupted himself, because it would be to derail. “We were little shits, but we never inflicted physical harm on each other. Those who tried were put in the public shame stand to be judged by all.”

“Sounds like Iltarel and Glain’s years at Sidjartan… I believe they successfully traumatized one of the students, just before the assessment of accession. He went into such a breakdown that he dropped out completely and ended up in a psychiatric ward for some time. Ended up working there, I believe… You intellectuals, you are the worst,” he smiled softly. “I’ve always had a streak for intellectual minds however. I guess that’s why I enjoined a teacher…” he looked at Demeny’s lips. “You’re as good as a comfort woman to make people talk, aren’t you?” he caressed the silky cushions and let his fingers trail down the throat.

“That is a very sweet compliment,” Demeny purred and drew his fingers up over Teval’s arm, up to his neck, along the outline of his manly jaw, “You  _ are _ magnificent, Your Teval Jarad of Strategic Operations... that man should’ve made you his luzzur – I believe you must be attractive even to those who have no bodily drive.”

“We became friends at least, at long last, and that’s the best I could wish for between us,” Teval leaned to kiss Demeny’s throat. “Our nephews brought us together… It would seem Iltarel is good at bringing me close to the uncles of those who are dear to him,” he chuckled and moved to press his gentle erection against the other’s groin. It was strange to find another penis there, but it was oddly pleasant.

“He should take up editing, if he’s good at making connections,” Demeny reckoned as he moved his hips, sliding their slick members against one another, “it’s so very important to make people get along in my line of work...” he hummed and rubbed the other’s back, outlining each scale bared there.

“Trying to recruit?” Teval grinned softly, moaning a bit at the pleasant sensations coming from further down. “He’s become good at making and keeping contacts, but the one he learned it from is Glain. That one has a talent to bring people together, match them… He’s been very useful to my son. And keeps on being now,” he reckoned. But he didn’t want to think of the trial. “How many people are you connected with, Demeny? The way you are connected with me right now…”

Demeny blushed a darker shade at the question; he hadn’t expected it, and he wasn’t sure what Teval wanted to hear – well, obviously he knew he wasn’t the only one, but did he need to know that Demeny was very active, either? It wasn’t exactly a bragging point for a man, and Demeny was well aware of that.

“You only want to know so you can shame me,” he chided the military. “All you need to know is that I find comfort where I can – as an infertile man, I am sure you understand how it is. Or maybe not, considering your entire career doesn’t hinge on you being available for these sorts of activities, and you have the luxury it is to openly display your love for a special someone,” he smiled a bit sadly. “There are many, and I love most of them. A few, I simply entertain like friends who like to have fun. And then there’s the one lover who scares me, who comes in the night, uninvited, the one I can never turn down, whom I don’t know whether he likes me or if he’s just playing a game. Sometimes he looks at me and I swear, I can see a part of his mind calculating all the ways he could kill me,” he licked his lips, “and he’s the most addictive of them all.”

“I could understand why it would be so,” Teval smiled faintly while caressing Demeny’s throat again. Then his fingers clasped him further to suffocate a little and restrain blood flow, although his gaze imposed trust. “There’s pleasure to be found in unequal positions,” he said slowly, feeling the man’s erection forcefully hardening between them. Then he released the grip enough to let him breath, but still dizzying him a bit. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

It was a very bold move to make, but the only reason it surprised him, was that Teval had gone so fast from denial to this. Now, that might be because Demeny hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to bed men of Teval’s standing; they were a different breed from his usuals, in that he, in general, spent more time with their wives, sometimes while they watched. Closeted bisexuality at its finest, Demeny thought.

“It isn’t inequal,” he whispered with a soft appreciation, “it’s your way to make us equal – I have the experience, you are in  _ my _ home, this is only your way to make sure I don’t overpower you. I appreciate the symmetry; it’s well balanced. But if you truly want to make it inequal, you’ll have to try harder.”

“Don’t tempt me too much,” Teval blushed, returned to a more vulnerable state by the masterful exposition. “What do you like to do with men, then? Or that they do to you? I don’t know if it’s any different than what women do ...I would think it  _ has _ to be different.”

“ _ Excuse you _ , I am perfectly capable of doing anything a woman can, except perhaps for vaginal intercourse and breast sex, which is only a no-go because I lack the relevant body parts,” Demeny laid a finger over Teval’s lips. “The possibilities are endless, and I often try to reflect the needs of my partner. I like to be perfect, I like to read them and to adjust to them, like... like a comfort woman does in her line of work, I guess – they are very, very clever people, very perceptive, very dangerous; never scorn a comfort woman,” he added with a knowing darkness in his eyes. He’d never angered one of them. “And I’m not saying that just because they are under the protection of the Obsidian Order,” he clarified with a smug grin and a meaningful look.

“Mutual masturbation is popular,” he continued, almost like reading a menu, “masturbation complemented by oral is also relatively popular. And then, you might expect penetration showing up on third place, but that’s not accurate at all – on place three, are men who like seeing their wife with another man, or that their wife sees them with a man. And that can involve anal, I suppose, but it’s usually not the main point. Then there’s those people who like to switch genders around,” he licked his lips. “Some of these are incredibly difficult to keep discreet; there’s a reason my career came to a stand still when I got Dayar,” he blushed a bit, “but I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

“I see,” Teval said, getting increasingly flushed in the neck. He was unsure whether he was more uncomfortable or aroused by those notions, although not all of them, but the ideas sprouting in his mind were quite… quite something. “And those people you are with, they get away with it too?” he worried carefully.

“Teval Jarad, tahkmar, those people are  _ thriving _ members of society. I think you probably know more than one of them, through the broadcast if nothing else,” he chuckled a bit and squirmed under the handsome man. “It’s not corruption, that’s not what I’d call it, it’s bonding. They consider me family, I consider them family. We never associate much outside of the bedroom for most of them, but we give each other the treatment we would luzzurs. And that’s how you build a life for yourself, when you’re marginalized, infertile and don’t have any contacts on Prime at the beginning of your career,” he turned into something more vulnerable too.

“I had no one when I first came here. The world was huge, scary and in this place, you all manipulate and hurt each other like barbarians – I’m sorry for my offensive words, but it is how I feel. Prime Cardassians are some of the most vile people in the Union, and yet... underneath all those layers of thorns and poison, beats the passionate, Cardassian heart that I always loved. And of course, you might think of me as someone who took advantage of the fact that here in the City, kindness and genuine affection is a rare treat... but then, I so often consider it a gift. And if I get something back, then it’s just the sign of a healthy relationship – Your Jarad,” he smiled sweetly, “I can’t disclose the names of those I adore, or I’ll betray them. I hope you are able to take my words for the truth they are, regardless of how un-Cardassian they might seem.”

“No, they’re honest words, and I value honesty a lot, Your Edar,” Teval smiled and caressed his face. It felt strange to do this to a man, and yet not. “I suppose you could use me too in your career then? Or do you already have someone in the war room? My workplace, Your Edar, is a cathedral of power, control and beauty, and I man it with this passion you love so much.”

“I can’t tell you,” smiled Demeny and relaxed under that caress, “but I can assure you, you’re not in my bed because of your position,” he closed his eyes for a while. “It’s just how it happened. I didn’t plan this – I know you’re thinking it. It would make a good story for a book, but it’s not true. I would never set up my own nephew like that just to get a contact.”

“That’s not even a lie,” Teval moved to slightly sit and reach a hand down to their manhoods and touch, grab and stroke them up and down. It was definitely queer to do this to another man, to feel how their organs were similar and yet a bit different still. “You do radiate with an aura of safety and honesty. It’s rare in a Cardassian, and if it’s a Soukaran characteristic, I hope your nephew has it too.”

He stopped talking there because what he was doing was getting to be quite arousing and worth focusing on some more. Demeny too relaxed and abandoned himself to Teval’s care, writhing a bit with pleasurable moans. Thoughts about Soukaran culture crossed his mind every few moments, and he stitched his thoughts together one fragment at a time, until such a time that he had to hold onto the blankets to demand back the power of speech.

“Soukaran culture is unlike that of Cardassia Prime, in that we’re open, oftentimes blunt and I have noticed that parents don’t have the same ambition as others to have children follow their career paths – even military families trickle into this thoughtline that we, on Soukara, call  _ optimisation _ ,” he bit his lower lip and looked at Teval, framed by eyelashes. “It happens gradually, within a generation or two. If you ask me, my highly disorderly opinion is that Soukara is more Cardassian than Prime. Here, parents force their children to pursue careers they are unfit for, which causes damage to efficiency and society. On Soukara, we base  _ everything _ on talent scouting – you have to talent-scout your own children. Parents are the ones who have to sacrifice their legacy for the better of Cardassia. I never understood the backwards ways of pretty much the rest of the Union; it’s inefficient and it makes us vulnerable to the enemy,” he took a breath to refuel his speech. “And then there’s my brother,” he said in a moan, unashamed of the rather unfitting combination, “Kantar. Never left his room much, didn’t keep a lot of friends. Watched way too much content from Prime, and then he ended up taking my father’s occupation even though he didn’t want to, and now he has the nerve to be bitter about it – he hates me, and he hates my career, and he hates his son for being a male rather than a female. I think he placed Dayar with me so that he could get rid of the both of us due to my incompetence as a father figure – as you can see, he’s yet to succeed.”

“Maybe I’m more Soukaran than I thought, then,” Teval purred. “I knew Iltarel had my talents, and I raised him to go to Bamarren as I did. I taught him many skills in which we still practice together,” he said with bittersweetness. “He would have fared amazingly well, I know it. But Denek decided to put him in law studies, at Sidjartan, to serve as a footing for Lukat to stand on. He destroyed Iltarel’s future. If only he’d listened to me and at least put him in engineering instead… But no, he had to have his pride and ambition to make his sons into the Conservator he never could become. And not because he didn’t attend Sidjartan… he never had the skills to begin with, but my father was soft and let him indulge in his dream.” He let go of their manhoods to loom over Demeny, resting himself on both hands.

“I agree with your Soukaran vision. Parents should scout their children to identify what they would be successful into. That’s why I made Pitir into a baker,” he grinned with a hint of smug pride. Then without much transition, “I like to listen to the intelligent things you say. Tell me more of those things you think would be good for Cardassia, and touch me while you’re at it,” he asked and leaned next to Demeny, legs parted in offering.

Demeny indulged Teval, and himself, with his warm hands, watching what he did to him with unadulterated pleasure.

“I think Institute years start too early – my mother always lamented that I wasn’t the same when I came back home. That she wished she could’ve had more of an impact on how I became as an adult. I think she suffered from some sort of, what did he call it, family dysphoria – I changed too much each year for her to properly recognize me every time I got home. It got confusing to her, and to her instincts, and I think she was scared that one day, she wouldn’t know how to love me. Or perhaps she no longer did, not in the heart, not emotionally, only logically – she never treated me poorly,” he made sure to point out, “neither did father. They both were very caring parents, and I don’t understand how Kantar could turn into a w... what he is now.” He smiled a bit bleakly. “Prime has a culture of violence that isn’t present on Soukara, except in transmissions from here, of course. But there’s something here about the attitude toward violence that is different – perhaps it is that you are so densely populating the planet. You can’t take a step without stepping on someone’s nerve. Everyone here seems to be entertaining a constant vibration of anger, frustration… I can’t put my finger on what exactly it is, but it’s boiling underneath people’s skin. And I think my brother got so enchanted by this vision of what it meant to be Cardassian, that he too became like that. Or maybe it’s just that he’s bitter, I really don’t know – he beats his children,” he told, but wasn’t going to tell about the wife. That was too shameful, and not his to tell.

“My brother has for himself that I don’t think he’s ever beaten his children, only screamed at them; which isn’t a lot better in my opinion. Loss of control is what it is,” Teval said and moaned in his own relaxation. “I’ve never hurt Iltarel out of a spar room, as part of training. Denek however did set up his military elders to beat him when he left his position at the Ministry, after his genital surgery – they made sure to kick between the legs enough that he had to return to the hospital for a check. It must be that anger… That need to exist more than others. And there is so much hurry about everything, all the time… It’s something I don’t understand. If you think of the place where I work, controlling and watching the position of every and each of our ships, military outposts, bases and everything… You’d think it must be madness, Demeny, but it’s not. It’s usually rather quiet, because we make it efficient, and the only contrarieties are the conflicts with the politics and the Order,” he sighed. “They all want to be on broadcast, to be popular, to be rich, to exist through others more than through their work… Maybe that’s what’s different about me. I always wanted to be invisible, and that might be why I was promoted. I didn’t want it, but it happened,” he reckoned and looked at the man. “I feel less alone, being with you,” he admitted.

“You are,” assured Demeny at the same time that he moved to be more sidewise too, so he could reach for a kiss, “you thoughtful, observant, handsome man,” flatteries weren’t everyone’s desire, but this time, it was more an indulgence for himself. He felt like filling the anxious pit of his belly with overflowing positivities. “Say, do you indulge more in those games of domination, or was that just an impulse you had right then?”

Teval flushed a little.

“I… had a period, with a woman who traded in those…” he said a bit shyly. “It was enticing. She suggested to teach me more, give me a course, get to do more, but I was uncomfortable with the idea then. It seemed too improper. Too much like some of us militaries have done sometimes, things that should never have happened on Bajor and elsewhere,” he suggested. “It did feel a bit wrong to do that to a woman. But to a man, it feels more right, because we can be such unbearable pricks that we deserve it.”

Demeny smiled and caressed a strand of Teval’s hair that had escaped the orderliness and became enticing in its wild state.

“I think you should take those courses before attempting it on me,” he told him gently. “It’s usually a safe practice, but you can end up truly hurting someone. I know of a case where a woman’s neck got snapped – her family opted for euthanasia rather than hospitalization; they couldn’t afford the fees. She was radiant,” he added a bit more sadly, “and her husband really didn’t mean to hurt her – I believe he died a criminal.  _ Walked _ off of a building – what a depressing topic,” he added with a sigh. “I just wanted to tell you to be careful. But... if you’d like, you could play pretend very softly – words are fine, holding my wrists carefully is fine, biting is fine, as long as you keep it to my neck scales: don’t bite below the end because, there are places where the nerves go, and it can be very unpleasant.”

Teval smiled, feline like a cat.

“You like those disorderly things, do you?” he dug his fingers in the hair at the back of Demeny’s hair and grabbed it to seize control.

With his other hand, he fished the Editor’s and indulged in a bit of play with his fingers, suggestively stroking them while thinking of what he would like to do next. Or see next. Gently, he guided the man’s hand to his own groin and wrapped his fingers around his manhood.

“There… masturbate yourself, Chief Editor Edar, do it in front of me, for my pleasure, yes…” he purred appreciatively as the man obeyed. “You truly are a handsome man… and what you’re doing makes you all the more beautiful. I do like to see expertise, and you have a lot of it.”

Demeny knew how to make a display of himself; relaxing when watched wasn’t an issue for him. Still, he held eye contact for as much as he could, only interrupting that to look at himself and the other’s undeniable desire, the glistening lubrication that coated his penis reflecting in the light from the aquarium, the blankets that had slid off of them and how the two of them were shining like polished rock, granite treated like gemstones.

“I want to touch you,” whimpered Demeny, looking at Teval like a child seeking pity – he was good at that, and had found that it went three ways: either the person didn’t care, or it made them angry,  _ or _ it made them melt, and considering the options, it was always worth a try.

Teval’s reaction turned out to be a grin, somewhere halfway between satisfaction and cruelty.

“Of course you want,” he took Demeny’s hand and kissed it softly before bringing it down, but he held it there, close to the target but denying contact. “How much do you want to touch me, Demeny Edar?”

“Desperately much,” Demeny whimpered again as he tried to reach his fingers to the glistening end goal, “please, let me have you, you’re so very... delicious,” he mumbled, because he didn’t know which word to pick, and that one was the one that was closest to the mouth, literally.

“Alright then, you may,” Teval allowed him to clasp his hand around him, sighing in pleasure at the touch. He kept his hand around Demeny’s however, and rocked his hips to thrust through the ring of fingers, allowing himself to get a little noisier, murmuring in approval and appreciation of the spots being stimulated – “Yes… there… like this… This is how I like it,” he taught him before letting go of his hand to caress his torso instead. And trail down, far down to the bulge concealing his testes, slick with the fluids coming from above,  and further down, where there was a hole and nerves to tease and please.

Demeny watched with breathy fascination how his hand moved over Teval’s slick shape, all while moving his hips in rhythm, and whimpering at all the good things that came from the other’s hand – such a nice hand, Demeny wanted to say, but caught on a groan instead and he had to lay his head back into the pillow, gritting his teeth a little with a hiss. Then the hiss died away and he got to return to his intellectual senses.

“You’re really very masterful yourself,” he complimented in a ragged voice, “are you sure you haven’t been with a man before it’s so – so good...” he writhed again, “you do this to me, Your Teval Jarad...”

“I’ve been with myself a lot,” Teval joked teasingly before answering the actual question: “No, the only way it would have happened would be if it’d been an Obsidian man, and he erased my memories of the act afterward ...but not the experience,” he told in a smug but hoarse voice, as he hesitated between keeping in control or surrendering to his body.

Eventually, he chose the latter, pressing himself closer to Demeny to watch as he writhed and finally came on his abdomen. It made it all the more enjoyable somehow and he finally relaxed, a faint smile on his lips, helping the Editor to finish as well, and contemplating the wet display.

“You know, you’re  _ rather _ good too,” he belittled the man. “Is it bad that I feel like I’d like to do it again? Do more things too…” he gulped and closed his eyes. “My poor wife… and I’m going to be a father… Well, I’m already a father, but… oh, this is too complicated.”

Demeny smiled and let none of the pain shine through his eyes.

“As long as you do it with me, I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he suggested in a way that wasn’t entirely serious, then chuckled a bit until the smile gave way to something more tired. “You should consider asking her if there’s a possibility she’d like to... extend the terms of your relationship,” he suggested, “the worst that can happen is that she thinks you’ve got disorderly fantasies, gets a bit offended and declines the application,” he smiled sadly. “And the worst that would come out of that is that, naturally, then you and I won’t meet again, not like this. Though with our nephews being like they are, it might be a bit difficult to cut contact entirely.”

“Hm… I’ll think about it,” Teval made himself a bit more comfortable on the pillow and passed a hand on Demeny’s belly, wiping the cum there, to then lick it from his fingers, as a way to gently groom his lover. “I’ll think  about it,” he repeated pensively as he dragged the blanket above them, and then dragged Demeny closer to spoon him snuggly.

After a moment of hesitation, he kissed his neck.

“You’re a good man, Demeny Edar,” he murmured. “A good comfort man too. And that’s a compliment, yes.”

Demeny hummed at that sentiment and hugged one of his pillows. He remained silent for surely around half an hour – but still awake, and still thinking. It got too warm and restless for him, so he went to the kitchen, silently pouring himself a glass of fresh water, which he just watched at first, admiring how the little bubbles of oxygen clung to the glass in defiance of gravity.

He wondered if he’d done right to take Teval there, to indulge in his own pathetic need for comfort, and the uncertainty pricked him a bit. What he’d done might have felt good on the moment, but what if Teval felt bad about it? What if now, each time he looked at his wife, he wouldn’t feel happiness over their child, but rather, shame of what he’d done with Demeny Edar?

Had it been right to take that risk, just for a moment of frail intimacy? Truly?

“There’s no point in worrying…” murmured a voice behind him, and it seemed like suddenly Teval was there.

When he’d come, how he’d come, that was impossible for Demeny to tell.

“You’re not helping your son nor mine by being worried like this. Come,” Teval kissed his neck again, only slightly, and laid a hand in the small of the naked man’s back to drag them both back to the bedroom.

“No, I...” he sat the glass down on the counter and leaned on it with the balls of his hands, back turned to Teval, “it’s not what I was thinking of. I was thinking of you – of what we shared in there,” he nodded in the direction of the bedroom. “I think maybe I’ve been selfish to take you here, I needed someone – and I don’t want you to feel guilt. I can’t help but to wonder if I’ve hurt you even when I said I wouldn’t.” He took a couple of breaths through his mouth and looked at Teval with a bit of concern, “And it’d be even more selfish of me to ask you to promise me not to feel like you’ve done something awful.”

“Hm,” Teval just replied, looking him over. “Interesting perspective,” he reckoned. “Keep it for next time such a situation arises upon you. I appreciate your concern for the fact that the thought occurred to you, which is good. But I think you can stop to worry this moment. Yes, it was risky and maybe a bit unrequired to unveil those tendencies of mine, and you’re guilty of that. But I suppose we were both vulnerable, exhausted and… you might have been right,” he nodded. “Sometimes, to save a relationship, one must expand it. What we did might still be better for us and for our sons. I just have to work out the details of what that means for my wife. For now, I’ll think of you as a comfort man, because then, it means that doesn’t count as cheating. And when things settle some more, I’ll give it another thought. But for now, come to bed with me, Demeny,” he said and laid his hands on the man’s hips.

Demeny smiled a little at the matte surface in front of him, though he wasn’t entirely convinced by his own attempt.

“You’ll be a wonderful father, Teval Jarad,” he told him. It was honest but not much cheerful. “I’d sooner die than take that joy away from any man.”

“I’ve taken joy away from men, women and children, Edar. I like to think I sent them to their death on a purpose, but the truth is that it sometimes turned out to be an error for which I had to make others take the blame. And to do that, to take those things away from those men, and sometimes from their families, that was my choice. I live with it. I’m fine with it. I did my duty to my family, and I can even pretend I did it for Cardassia, because  _ I _ , Gul Jarad, am more important and useful to her than those men I sacrificed,” he said with spite towards his fake pride. “And so are you, Chief Editor Edar. You are important, and if you have lasted as long as I have, I believe it means we are good, so don’t lose it now. Know what you did but don’t let it consume you.”

Demeny squinted a bit. He hadn’t exactly realized that the one Jarad he’d taken to bed was a gul – that was what he got for doing things on impulse. Not that it made much of a difference, other than, perhaps, he’d missed out on the kinky title usage. He turned around and leaned against the counter, searching the other man’s eyes for... something.

“Your duty is something different from mine,” he concluded his thoughts and looked at the scales of the other’s chest. “How did you find out that you  _ weren’t _ infertile?”

“My wife became pregnant and I sincerely believe she didn’t cheat on me. Not that it would have explained how she became pregnant, considering she’s also infertile. We’re now a case study for one Doctor Saima Garidan. A very gentle woman with such interesting theories that she won’t disclose them. Maybe you should contact her if you’re curious to know if you might be fertile somehow after all…” he suggested.

Demeny smiled a little weakly and snorted a short laughter.

“If I was, I think I would’ve probably impregnated someone already, considering how active I’ve been. I’ve given up,” he admitted with a headshake, “or come to terms, as my psychiatrist would say. I don’t know if I want to go through the process of getting hope again. It seems too painful, and I’ve so much that requires my full attention,” he snorted at himself again. “I haven’t felt this awful about it for years; what’s wrong with me now?” then he realized he’d said that out loud and shook his head. “I’m sorry, you’re right, let’s go back to bed.”

Teval let him lead and caressed his back once they laid in the bed.

“We’ve got common points. It must be difficult to see me expecting a child. Why me? Why not you?” he murmured softly. “Those are valid questions, Demeny. Very valid questions. I’ll bring them to Doctor Garidan.”

“Maybe all my fertility ended up in Dayar,” Demeny jested, but it wasn’t actually fun. “It  _ is _ such an odd occurrence, though, that Dayar gets this condition of almost over-fertility, while I get nothing at all... Must come from his mother,” he reckoned and another sadness encroached on him. “He doesn’t let her see him,” he added as a secret, “He forbade a mother to see her own child. And she chose to do as he asked... I’m so tired...”

Teval held him close. He wished he had comforting words to give, but he was a military, not a comfort woman.

“I suppose you have your reasons not to have had him killed or removed by your Obsidian friend. Perhaps even the same reason why I never got rid of my brother. Too many children to care for. But maybe you should find another husband for her, so she can keep what’s hers.”

Demeny kept silent and held Teval’s hands against his chest and sighed. The pressure of them felt reassuring.

“I don’t want to become head of my family, and I’d instantly lose Dayar back to his mother’s jurisdiction, and I think possibly to her family, since if I killed my brother, I’d be the only blood member left, and I’m  _ infertile _ ,” he took a careful breath and then he closed his eyes, “and I love Kantar. He’s my brother, what kind of person kills their own brother...? I’ve been sending him letters. Trying to... show that I care. I don’t think he’s reading them, but I just want... I just want to change him. I don’t want him dead – it would be so easy for him to be happy, to accept Dayar, to stop envying me and to see the value in what he’s accomplished. But he clings to bitterness, and it’s painful for him, too. And for me.”

“Then why don’t you have him taken into forced psychiatric care?” Teval thought. “Although, as I recall, Glain was sent in a ward and while they cured his tendencies to despair, they didn’t manage to fix his gender confusion. ...Forget I said that, I shouldn’t… other people’s…” he mumbled. “But maybe you could strike a deal with the wife, see if she’d let you fully adopt Dayar in exchange for a new man,” he yawned. “I’m pretty sure such procedures exist somewhere… but I’m not a man of law.”

Demeny sighed and gave Teval’s fingers a kiss.

“I don’t dare to,” he told him and nuzzled his knuckles. “She’s not allowed to talk to me, either. And I’m not allowed to contact her, and that’s just how it is.”

“Ah, well… Then you should sleep.” Teval contemplated whether or not to propose help for that, but he figured it might sound strange and be a hassle, and such abilities were best kept a secret, really. “Sleep Edar… you need it.”

“You too, Your  _ Gul _ Teval Jarad,” mumbled Demeny, who had already very nearly fallen asleep, surrounded by the fuzz of his mind and that of a sweet man. He especially liked falling asleep like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	33. IV - Conservation and confiscation

#  Conservation and confiscation

Archon Sulial Loran was twenty four and starting to settle quite well in her career. That Five Lidek –  _ Glain Rokat _ – had dared come to her like that, and in such a state, was hardly a surprise, given the case. That he and Four Tarh’eel had been luzzurs pretty much all through their Institute years was no secret.

“He’d been drinking,” Sulial complained to young Intern Conservator Tikam Kolat, whom she’d known as Three Mirad at Sidjartan.

The thin, lanky, moon-faced boy just nodded submissively and let her go on.

“You know, he’s younger than me, and I don’t really care that he’s a Rokat. I was One Lebrak, I always outranked him, and as an Archon and his elder, I still outrank him. But, of course, he  _ always _ thought himself better and smarter than anyone else. He scorned the entire profession by turning himself into some measly archivist, and now that he’s come back to suddenly claim his father’s chair, he thinks he can come into my office with his disorderly hair and a smell of Kanar about him, excuse his state over pretending he just celebrated his sister’s enjoinment – he doesn’t even have a sister! She’s his aunt! Do you realize what that means?”

Tikam nodded although he really didn’t.

“Yes, exactly. That’s disgusting. And now he asks  _ me _ for a favor. Oh, that, he can ask, but when  _ I _ asked him to-” she interrupted herself, blushing as she opted not to reveal how shamefully she’d been turned down when she tried to date the young man. “Anyway. I don’t like those manners. And I don’t like the way both he and Jarad have humiliated our profession. So you’ll go to the detention area and announce the following sentences,” she gave him a PADD, which he took respectfully.

“I’ll do it right away, Archon Loran,” Tikam said faithfully and got up at once. “I have no doubt that these sentences will be most adequate; I am most faithful in your judgement and most grateful for this case and opportunity,” he bowed deeply as he exited while Loran just rolled her eyes.

“Go suck the dick of someone who’s got one,” the woman groaned, which also caused the poor nineteen-year old to blush awfully.

 

Tikam Kolat was a very proper person, very dedicated to his work, and he’d always made it a policy to himself to be nice and polite to absolutely everybody, so to keep his enemies few. He was personally a great, great admirer of Nall Rokat, whom he considered to be the most amazing Conservator to have ever lived, and most refined. Tikam truly wished he could come to emulate his style, but with this first case, he had to admit that he was quite unsure of how to proceed at all. And he paled when he saw the sentences. Oh, Loran must be absolutely furious…

_ Why does it have to be me…? _ thought the poor intern as he made his way down to the detention area in which sex offenders were kept. The old guard on faction was sleeping in his chair in the middle of the room.

“Ahem,” Tikam cleared his voice and came forth. “I am Intern Conservator Kolat, and I’ll be working on the double case of sexual assault on the public eye,” he introduced himself.

The guard just snored a bit louder, so Tikam decided not to anger him and came closer to the adjacent cells in which the offenders were kept separately.

“Your Dayar Edar,” he looked at the Soukaran, “the crime of gender-confused display wasn’t retained against you, thanks to your therapist and your uncle’s insistence. In accordance to psychiatric advice, you have been sentenced to psychiatric rehabilitation. Your Iltarel Jarad,” he turned to the albino and paused. “The… crime of gen-gender-confused display was… retained a-against you,” he stuttered a little, “and the… the sentence is…” he gulped and read what was written on his PADD, “ _ since the offender has proven unfit to make good use of the organ he afforded, he shall be hereby punished by confiscation of his penis or restoration of his organs to their former state _ .”

“W-what?” Iltarel stared at the man. “Am I not supposed to be sentenced to… public service? Or being a test subject?” he said with a dry throat.

“The Archon decides…” Tikam just said evasively, clearly very uneasy about the sentence.

Dayar, who had been sitting crept together on the little bench of the cage, looked at the young Conservator at last. It couldn’t mean what he’d just said. Surely it couldn’t – nothing Iltarel had done warranted  _ that _ kind of punishment.

“But he can get it back, surely?” he asked desperately in a small voice, “If he gets enough lek for it, he can have it back then, it’s not forever? Is it?”

“There is nothing forbidding that, indeed,” Tikam nodded. “He’ll have to re-afford it. But, of course, that’s only after he’s reimbursed the cost of the restorative operation he’ll undergo first…”

“Did… did I do something to Archon Loran?” Iltarel asked blankly. “Did Naker set her up to this?”

“N-no, I don’t believe so… Young Conservator Rokat explicitly asked her not to communicate with Naker. But I believe he isn’t in her good graces as much as he expected. I’m very sorry…” Tikam pinched his lips. “I heard he was a bit inebriated too.”

Dayar had several things he wanted to say about Glain, none of them particularly positive.

“Figures that he’d be upset that Iltarel and myself are courting, he probably did it on purpose,” he grovelled as a very mild version of his opinions. “I hope he’s planning on paying for that,” he added even more surly.

“I’m not in charge of financial details,” Tikam pointed, because that was a bit too much, really. “Now, this is a very delicate case, and that’s what I’m in charge of conserving. Considering the very blatant proofs of the crime, you have been exempted of interrogation. Your Edar, you reported that you are the instigator. This makes you into a key figure. I believe it would look good on you to emphasize on your desire to become a woman. It would be a very positive message to transmit. Is there any way we could explain the inappropriate setting by an… urge, triggered by an excess of medicine, maybe?”

Dayar thinned his lips and looked at the wall next to him.

“I did it because I wanted to  _ forget _ that I’m going to be forced to become a woman – I  _ don’t _ want to become a woman,” he marked stubbornly.

“Yes, but no,” Tikam kept polite and patient. “I understand that you would like to say such things, but they are un-Cardassian, and the audience would not understand that you were granted such a gentle sentence if you speak like this.”

Dayar glared at Tikam.

“You’re not a Conservator, you’re an Editor,” he accused him with all the intents of someone looking to offend, “How old are you even, fifteen?”

“My age is of no relevance! I am an officer of the court and you will pay me the respect I deserve, or I shall add insubordination to your records!” Tikam flared back. “I am patient, Your Edar, but I cannot tolerate any insult to the State, which I represent through my function.”

“Dayar, please…” Iltarel whimpered in a weak voice, yet perfectly audible. “We’ve lost this battle… It’s time to yield and accept the consequences of our acts. I don’t want you hurt, shamar…” his voice died at last and he held his breath so not to cry.

Dayar looked at the weakened form that was his beloved, then at Tikam – still, the flame in his eyes had gotten hotter rather than bleaker.

“Fine, I’ll say everything you ask me to – if you make sure to change  _ his _ sentence to  _ something else _ ,” he crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his teeth.

“That isn’t in my power; I’m  _ only _ a Conservator. I don’t think the Archon would  _ change _ the sentence, this has  _ never _ happened in the history of Cardassia. However it regularly happens that Archons  _ add _ further punishment when there is insubordination, so, given your request and Archon Loran’s apparent distaste of Ja-” he cleared his throat to cut short the words he absolutely mustn’t pronounce, least the case might slip out of the Archon’s hands and surely put an end to his internship, “-distate of insubordination,” he recovered his footing, “I believe she might be prone to add more to  _ his _ sentence. If you do love this man, I conjure you, Your Edar, to give a good confession, one that will shed a light of hope for all the troubled young females like you to hold onto.  _ Please _ ,” he insisted in a perfect imitation of Nall Rokat (he’d repeated that one intonation and gesture a lot in the Insitute’s holosuite).

“But it would be a lie,” Dayar weakly held onto the conflict, “and the only ones who will get hope from it, is parents who want nothing for their children other than to become  _ normal _ . I...” he looked over at Iltarel, the state he was in, and then looked down, “I’ll do my best.”

“That is good, Your Edar,” the Conservator approved. “And if it is of any comfort to you, remember that there are no lies in the court, only the truth of the State, the truth we all need to grow strong together.”

Dayar really wanted to tell Conservator Kolat to go piss in a corner, but he let his eyes convey that sentiment instead.

No matter, that was enough for the intern and he left. Silence settled, barely disturbed by the old guard’s lighter snoring.

“No,” Iltarel said before Dayar could utter anything. “I don’t want to talk. I love you but I don’t want to talk, else all this is going to start becoming real and I don’t want things to be real,” he explained and moved to the corner of the cell closer to Dayar’s, so his shamar couldn’t see him in case he broke down.

Dayar moved to the same corner, so he could be close to Iltarel – he wished they could’ve talked; there were so many things he wanted to express, but if his shamar preferred silence, then that was what he’d offer. Still, he caught himself stroking the wall, as if the touch could somehow transfer to the other side and give some sort of comfort.

Then another old guard, older even than the one who was sleeping, came in like a sneak and went into Iltarel’s cell to give him clothes and a box from the Masad bakery.

“Lukat told me to tell you he’s never forgiving you, but your father said he’ll do everything he can to… I don’t know what, because there’s not much to be done at this point,” he said.

“Thanks, Rubin. You can leave,” Iltarel answered emptily, and Rubin obeyed, going to the next cell to deliver clothes and another box of subi biscuits.

“I was told to tell you that Pitir thought of you while making them so they’d be better,” Rubin informed, then in a lower voice, “ _ that means there’s more Kanar in them _ ,” he added and retreated from the cell.

Dayar silently put on the clothes and held the box of biscuits like it was an unexpected but essential gift of life, and mouthed a ‘ _ thank you _ ’ at the man.

That Pitir didn’t blame him for what had happened was perhaps one of the few respites he could take – but then, maybe it just was that he was too daft to understand that it was Dayar’s fault. And maybe viewing his kindness as a reason to try and forgive himself was an act of abuse.

But then, thinking of him as lesser in regards to intelligence just because he was different, wasn’t that an act of abuse, too? Dayar wasn’t sure which to go for, what was Cardassian – and in that moment, he wasn’t even sure if he cared to be Cardassian anymore. How could he be? Cardassia would have him become a woman, Dayar Edar had never truly been anything but un-Cardassian. How else should he see it, his entire life as a man?

##  * * *

Glain had woken up badly hungover that day, and it was a very good thing that Siram was such a gentle lover. The young Conservator had finally opted to break his word. Why should he hold back from seeing his male partners again when they were the haven he needed to go on through the ordeals of life? And Siram was such a caring man. Old enough to be Glain’s father, and that was exactly why their dynamic was so fluid and fit for the youth to get comfort from his elder. They’d kept this relationship going on for years, more sporadically or intensely at times.

“Are you going to be alright, Glain?” Siram asked as the youth prepared to leave for work.

“No, but that doesn’t matter. I have things to do, and that’s what I need to focus on,” the Conservator answered.

“And when you run out of things to do, what do you see in the mirror?”

“I don’t look at it, and there are always more things to do. Now, I really need to go. I’ll be witnessing for a friend tonight, and…” He took a deep breath and sighed. “I don’t want to think of anything until I’m in the box, so I’m going to leave, go to the Ministry, lock myself in my office and talk to absolutely nobody.”

“Well, sounds like a plan,” Siram nodded, keeping the sarcastic tone out of his no-less sarcastic words. “Please, if you need more comfort, call me, tahkmar. Promise you’ll call me,” he held the young man’s shoulder and his face.

“Don’t I always do, in the end?” Glain replied with a riddle and Siram kissed him softly on the lips.

“Go, but take care. You’re precious to me, son.”

Glain just nodded and left.

He carried his plan with ease, locking himself into his room at work, along with a lunch box he’d bought on the way, and something to drink. He wished he could drink Kanar rather than cold tea, but he knew that would be most unwelcome in the end. Soon however, he found that he was restless and couldn’t concentrate, so he slipped out of his office and tuned in with his surroundings to carefully avoid most everybody. Those he passed by likely didn’t see him, and it was exactly as he wanted things to be.

He went to a courtroom and sat there for a while when it was empty. Then a trial began and he observed it from the off-camera spot where he stood. Nobody noticed him, and it felt ...not good, but appropriate. In line with Glain’s life, lately, in opposition to everybody else’s:

Elem got enjoined. Enjam was going to enjoin Delna. Keelani’s daughter was very pregnant. And Iltarel and Dayar were so in love they could have sex in public. Not even Glain had ever pulled that one out, not even on those times when he had sex with complete strangers in the vestiary of a swimming pool for males on the hunt for other males. In such a disorderly sexual establishment, such behaviors were tolerated and ...welcomed.

Glain didn’t feel welcome in his own life right now.

 

Then came the time to go to the formalist to fix his looks. The poor officer had a hard time doing that, and repeated several times that he needed to look happier in order to look proper and Cardassian, which was what Archon Loran expected of him as a witness. Glain smiled, but only with the lips, because the rest of him was barely there.

At last, he went to the room in which witnesses were held, and realized he still didn’t know what the sentence was. As he sat with the couple who had come to witness, he couldn’t help but notice how uneasy the man was.

“Don’t worry. So long as you just say what the Conservator and the Archon want, it will be fine,” Glain tried to reassure him.

“It’s not that… It’s the… the sentence,” the man explained. Then further, “It’s a bit crude to think of it, this surgery.” And then he had to detail what the sentence really was and Glain became completely empty.

##  * * *

Archon Loran smacked her desk with the stone and the accused were brought forth into the courtroom.

“As is customary, the present family may voice their wish to disassociate,” she said, looking at the strange lot: Demeny Edar (since Kantar Edar had rejected the offer to come, which also made it possible to process the case faster), and Teval, Denek and Mira Jarad.

Nobody wished to disassociate, as Sulial had expected, so she just went on.

“Your Dayar Edar and Your Iltarel Jarad,” she addressed them from her high position, “would you like to spare this court and proceed to confess already?” she asked, knowing that Dayar had been asked to obey, while Iltarel was made to refuse.

The albino looked away, as to erase himself from the situation entirely, then looked at Dayar.

“You can do it…” he whispered softly. “I’m with you,” he mustered a smile and went to sit at the accused’s table to state his will not to confess at that point.

“Your Edar,” young Conservator Kolat said in a gentle and compassionate tone that was reminiscent of Nall’s, “please, for your own sake and for the sake of Cardassia… Do us the honor of your confession,” he gestured at the box.

Dayar felt nauseated as he took the confessor’s seat. He swallowed forcefully and looked at the people in the room, although he felt like they might as well have been holograms, for how unreal they all seemed to him.

“I...” He took a couple of breaths through the mouth and forced himself to lean forward.

“I...” he repeated and tried to look at the Conservator beyond his dizziness, “I confess to have committed crimes against Cardassia and her people, and against myself, and my...” he looked to Iltarel, “my shamar,” he stated, which was borderline disorderly considering he was presenting as male. “I would like to... proclaim myself the instigator of the crime, as I – I... I was notated as male on my request, but, I am not. I’m not male,” he cleared his throat and looked at the Archon – whom was doubled by his skewing sight. Good Cardassia, Dayar thought, there definitely shouldn’t be two Archons up there,  and not in each other’s lap; that wasn’t very proper.

“My  _ father _ ,” he swallowed back his nausea again, “has encouraged me to seek a suitable male to court, and I chose His Jarad,” he looked back at the Conservator. “Because I love him. And I just wanted to- to be with him already – I want to be his wife,” he felt another nauseating attack and groaned as he swallowed what was trying to get up. “I should have been more discrete. And I wish I could take his punishment for him, for how inconsiderate I was to him when I proposed to... do it in the train,” he mumbled and looked down. “I love him so much,” he added weakly, “I abused him.”

“But it wasn’t only him, Your Edar,” the Conservator said softly. “If it had been only about him, it wouldn’t have been abusive. It would only have been a step on your way to rehabilitation as a female, but you were seen,” he said and turned to the Archon.

“Please, let the eye witnesses come in,” she said and the couple was brought in. They didn’t dare to look anyone in the eyes.

“These innocent people, Your Edar… What have you got to tell them?” Tikam asked in a gentle, inviting voice.

Dayar looked at the couple through a blurred film of tears. He couldn’t tell exactly how many they were, but he assumed that they couldn’t be more than three. Possibly two.

“W-we never did it before,” he phrased awkwardly, “I didn’t think – I’m sorry,” he blinked away some liquid and renewed his hold on the seat. “I’m so sorry.”

They nodded as to accept the excuses and Tikam took a deep breath.

“If this isn’t guilt, Our Archon, I wouldn’t know what it is. Regret shines in those tears, it vibrates in this broken voice, echoing the fiber that was broken deeper down within my client. Dayar Edar is a troubled person, but he strives to be a good Cardassian, Our Archon, and as his Conservator, I believe his act wasn’t misguided as much as misconveyed. Clearly, my client never wished to inflict this suffering to anyone, and I sincerely believe he has the potential to learn to harness his emotions and needs better. As a matter of fact, Dayar Edar is an extremely fertile female, and currently in the physical process of recovering the normal use of his organs. I do hope, Our Archon, that my client shall soon return to a fully-female and fully-functional state, and carry out her duty to the State. I sense, in Dayar Edar, a loving and caring person with no past criminal record, the potential to rehabilitation to become a proper Cardassian wife, and the mother of new children for our glorious empire.”

“And you may rest your case for His Dayar Edar, Conservator Kolat,” the Archon smiled. “The accused, who was found guilty of sexual assault on the public eye is hereby sentenced to psychiatric rehabilitation, and will be immediately transferred to the medical ward,” she said and slammed her stone.

Two guards immediately came in to escort Dayar out. Iltarel steeled himself as he looked intensely at his shamar looking back at him.

“Your Jarad,” Sulial addressed the albino, and a bit of acid made it into the honeyed way in which she spoke his name, “the Cardassian code of Jurisprudence compels you to confess. I believe you are familiar with this…”

“I am, and I will-” Iltarel raised from his seat but she raised her hand.

“-Yes, that’s a better attitude already. But to better understand your character, and how much of an offense you have commited, I believe it is necessary to summon another witness.”

Iltarel didn’t understand at first, then Glain was brought in and the two men stared at each other. It was all very clear that neither of them wanted to be there, looking at each other in such a context, but the albino couldn’t fathom yet how his luzzur planned to help, considering the sentence… Or had he betrayed him? For once, Iltarel found that he couldn’t figure the answer because Glain felt entirely empty and broken, and there were no clues but the context itself.

“Your Glain Rokat, please, come to testify,” the Archon invited him, and he had no other choice but to enter the box to do so, although he felt more like he was about to be made to confess.

“Your Rokat… You are a close friend of the accused. You seem very shocked…” she mentioned, and Glain didn’t react. “Could you please tell us in which context you came to befriend His Jarad?”

“We were students at the Sidjartan Institute of Higher Education, which you attended as well, Archon Loran…” Glain answered blankly, distantly setting his eyes on her at the end.

He couldn’t believe how profoundly she’d fucked him over, through and through and by all ends. How did he not see that coming? How did it happen? Why did it happen? He still didn’t understand.

“Indeed. A lot of good people came from this Institute, and when a former student disgraces himself, he disgraces us all,” she replied.

Tikam just sat awkwardly next to Iltarel because he clearly had nothing else to do at the moment and he didn’t really want to be the Archon’s instrument in  _ her _ personal little vendetta. Women, he thought, were terrifying when angered.

“Your Rokat, tell us more about Iltarel Jarad.”

“He’s the most proper person I’ve ever known, and he saved himself for the one right person for him to fall in love with and enjoin,” Glain answered. “Obviously, he never would have behaved-”

“-You are derailing from the topic, Rokat,” Sulial cut. “No further speculations will be accepted. Keep to the facts. His Jarad is twenty five. Would you say that he has a lot of acquaintances?”

“He does,” the witness answered in a dull voice.

“And are they mostly male or female?”

“I don’t have statistics, I’m sorry.”

“But a lot of them are engineers, isn’t it? Women,” the Archon guided the answer.

“That is correct.”

“And he has never pursued romance with any of them.”

“Not that I know. The one true love can be difficult to-”

“-If you do not stop derailing, Rokat, I will have to be offended in the name of the court,” she snapped. “You are being  _ disorderly _ .”

He said nothing and she smiled.

“Has His Jarad ever behaved with you in a way that could have been interpreted as courting?”

“ _ NO _ ,” Glain finally glared at her.

“Your Rokat, I understand that you would be afraid for your reputation, but please.  _ Consider _ the question again…”

For a moment, Glain was silent, eyes closed. Considering.

“It  _ could _ have been interpreted as courting, had one been disorderly enough to think of it as such, but His Jarad never instigated anything disorderly.”

“Very good. Of course, it would have been uncalled of His Jarad to court a man bearing your reputation,” she smirked, “and thankfully, I believe that you, Your Rokat, are not a disorderly person. You have been victim of squander before, and you went through rehabilitation too. In the eyes of this court, you are bleached of all claims pertaining to the orderliness of your sexuality, and I sincerely believe that you wouldn’t have acted out of line with His Jarad, had he taken his courting with you to a further step. However, considering your testimony and the current state of body of Dayar Edar, it appears clear that His Jarad is guilty, not only of sexual assault to the public eye, but also of gender inbreeding. Thank you, Your Rokat,” she purred, “your testimony has been most useful, and the court regards you with respect for your duty. You may leave.”

Glain gulped, then finally got up, finding himself somewhat unsteady as he went down the court floor again. He looked at Iltarel, and he could see his friend was betrayed. That was a very smart move from Loran.

“Your Jarad,” Kolat cleared his voice and invited him to the box.

Iltarel got up and went there with something more angry about his stride.

“I confess,” he said as he planted himself on the bench, “I fell in love with Dayar Edar, he is my shamar, he makes me warm, and I wish for nothing less than his happiness. I didn’t have sex with him in that shuttle; I made love to him, because he is the one true love for me. I love him with my heart, I loved him with my body, and I’ll always love him. He makes me want to be his husband and the father of his children,” he declared. “And you, Archon Sulial Loran… you can never know how good it is to be with a true shamar,” he gritted his teeth but didn’t give her a chance to reply. “I apologize to the persons who saw us. I apologize to Cardassia for disgracing her and lacking the restrain to hold back. But I am Cardassian, and so is love. For this reason, I ask for mercy. I don’t believe my act was un-Cardassian, only inappropriate.”

“Well… that’s… a confession and a half,” Kolat nodded, a bit taken aback by the flow. “Your Archon…?” he turned to her.

“Yes…” she winced. “Iltarel Jarad, you are a former student of Sidjartan. You have worked for the Ministry of Justice and had the wits to leave your position before committing this criminal act of confused nature, but you have still disgraced your Institute and your former position. You are a rapist in the eyes of law, and since you seem unfit to make good use of the penis you afforded for your intersexed body, you are sentenced to have it removed surgically. Your organs may be restored to their previous state, and you will pay for the medical act,” she said and slammed her stone with the perfect timing to hide the sound from the witnesses’ corner, where the man had fainted and collapsed. “The sentence takes effect immediately,” she only added and guards came it to remove Iltarel, so he could have his body part removed too.

##  * * *

When Iltarel woke up, his mother was there too, sleeping in the armchair next to his bed. The young man closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep, and his body had mercy, letting him sink back into coma. He woke up again, several times, until, finally, he could no longer sleep. He was starting to have a headache and now his mother was awake too and held his hand. She said nothing but she kissed him on the forehead and gave him something to drink, and then something to eat. He had no appetite, but he forced himself, for her. Then, as he munched slowly on his food, his body started to feel more real and he cried.

“Your father came several times earlier, but you were sleeping,” she told him at last. “He feels very guilty… I’m so sorry, Iltarel. We’re all so sorry…”

“Where is Teval?”

“He came too, but had to go as well. He had to talk with Gul Evek, I believe – he’s in the city, right now, and you know he’s not on land often, that man. They met at the Ministry… but that doesn’t matter,” she realized.

“What matters?” he asked.

“You. You, Iltarel. My beautiful child, my beautiful, beautiful son,” she said and tears came to her eyes and soon poured out.

 

Later, emotions started to settle a little more, and Iltarel rested some more. He was awaken by a chime from his PADD, which his mother had brought in case he wanted to read something or distract himself. Grumbling, he grabbed it to check the message. At first, he was puzzled. He’d just received money, and it was a very significant amount. And that same amount had directly been transferred off to the Ministry of Justice’s financial service, which had prompted back a receipt to signify that his debt was paid.

“Uncle…” he figured and checked who had sent the money in the first place, since there was a  _ thin _ possibility that his father had somehow managed that feat. But it was neither men. It came from Glain. Iltarel’s eyes thinned in anger and he started to type a message. Then he erased it and called him directly.

“ _ Iltarel? _ ” answered a voice that sounded like Glain.

“How dare you do this to me!? How dare you!? I can’t believe you’ve done this to me! After everything,  _ EVERYTHING! _ You are such a traitor, Glain Rokat! How could you!?”

“ _ Iltarel,  _ **_I_ ** _ was betrayed- _ ”

“Oh, yes, you were! But I was honest and I thought you were honest too when you told me I could have Dayar, when you told me our friendship mattered more to you than him. You lied to me, Glain Rokat! You couldn’t stand to be left out and you had to get back at us like a Rokat does! I should have known! I wish I could get that money back and throw it back at your face, stuff every single lek down your throat until you choke, I-! I’m  _ SO ANGRY _ , Glain Rokat, I’m so  _ VERY ANGRY _ at you and I don’t want to see you ever again!” his voice broke into tears. “I loved you, Glain! You were my luzzur and I loved you! But now you’ve destroyed everything and don’t you call me again!” he said and smashed the button to end the call so he could cry to himself better.

On the other side, Glain looked at his PADD in disbelief. His shoulders started to shake and his nose sniffled. He tried to hold himself, compose himself, and went through his computer to order another money deposit. He looked at his account, hesitating, then selected the full totality of its contents and sent it onto Tilayan Rokat’s account.

“There. I did that,” he braced himself and made sure to compose himself before dialing Elem’s com link, audio only.

 

Elem and Lakanet had been enjoying the morning nestled together in bed – there were a thousand other things she could be doing, but with all the  _ mating _ that followed a successful enjoining, she thought she could afford herself some time simply lazing around while her husband was back to work after a… pleasant day off. Lakanet, too, had been appreciative of this choice, as Elem offered a warm, cozy body to curl up against.

When her PADD rang and she picked up the call, the other recipient started talking at one, fast and formal, sounding more like a recorded message than an actual person.

“ _ Elem, Father has asked me to provide for the children’s studies, but I won’t have enough to provide for them both. I have done what I can for Tilayan, but I want you to take Kilem to your own charge. Is that understood? _ ” he asked.

“Glain?” realized Elem, “What are you talking about?” she frowned with a twitch – this wasn’t normal, and she couldn’t help but to think of Delna’s observation. “Is everything alright, Glain?”

“ _ I think so _ ,” he refrained to specify “ _ now _ ” to avoid giving her any further clues. “ _ Just do what I said, will you? And if you have issues, ask Enjam. Make sure the money doesn’t run out _ .”

“Glain, you  _ know _ I don’t have any money yet, and by now, your salary is a lot higher than mine – why are you asking me?” Elem counteracted as she sat up in the bed some more, “And why would I talk to him and not you...? You sound like you’re going to-” she bit the sentence off, “You’re not thinking of doing something stupid, are you?”

He chuckled, trying to humor her, although he sounded tired.

“ _ No, of course not. I’m done doing stupid things. I just realized I’ve been sloppy and… it’s time I take my responsibilities, you know? _ ” he switched the call onto his PADD and got up, moving out of Siram’s flat – the shorter time he spent there, the least chances to run into anyone. “ _ I’m sorry for the other night. I should have stayed longer instead of drinking and running away like an idiot, _ ” he snorted. “ _ That was stupid. It was a beautiful ceremony. You were splendid and I have no doubt that you and Sokal are going to be a wonderful couple, and your children will be… Father won’t resist them, I just know it, _ ” he smiled. “ _ I have to go; lots of things to do. Take care, sister. I love you. I really love you, _ ” he said and terminated the conversation, setting his mode to busy so further calls would be ignored.

Finding himself in the streets of Barvonok, he went to the transport station and went onto the line to South Coranum.

In Torr, Elem gulped and looked at the PADD, then tried to send him a call – knowing, somehow, that he wouldn’t answer. However, she set the PADD to keep on trying, while she took her  _ other _ PADD and decided to call rather than send a message – it was urgent, that was her opinion.

The moment Setik answered, she interjected with:

“I think something is very wrong with Glain, I need to find him so I can talk to him, could you help me?” she asked as she, with her other hand, stuffed a very disappointed Lakanet back into the safety of the terrarium.

Setik groaned – he’d been in the process of telling a friend, Corbin, about the funny things he’d heard were happening at the Ministry of Justice. Upon hearing that, he glanced back at his colleague, comfortably sat behind a desk that once belonged to another man.

“Can you check the whereabouts of Glain Rokat? Track his PADD, and if that doesn’t match up with cameras, I believe he should have a chip we put on him,” he asked and Corbin leaned toward the computer panel to run the research.

“He’s in Barvonok, headed toward Coranum,” the agent answered. “I see there’s a notification from self-murder prevention that he’s entirely depleted his bank account. You want me to check for death sites on his itinerary?” he raised an eyeridge.

Setik nodded.

“Elem, take a transport to South Coranum and find Glain. More information about his whereabouts will be communicated through your chip. If he’s going to try something un-Cardassian, I want you to try to stop him  _ before _ he tries, and make sure he won’t try later. If he does, he’ll end up locked up away from society for a very long time, and I’d rather we don’t lose him, especially since he hasn’t even had a chance to pass down his skills. On your way,” he terminated the call and looked at Corbin. “Send a back-up agent, will you? I hope she’ll manage, but it can go both ways with family.”

“Ah, yes…” the man smirked while passing the order down. “Glain Rokat…” he murmured while going through his file. “You know, there’s inspiration to be found in all this. Family, lost lover… Did we ever get that Enkem back?” he wondered.

“I’ve no idea. I don’t even know who was in charge of keeping an eye on him.”

“It wasn’t Elim?”

“I hope not,” Setik laughed, “because if we have to wait for him to return, we’ll never get Enkem back either. The conditioning might break first,” he shrugged.

“Hm, maybe, yes,” Corbin shrugged too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	34. IV - Shri-tal in the Gebalt Hill

#  Shri-tal in the Gebalt Hill

It was a fascinating experience to ride the train with a mind so sharp it seemed as though the transport was hardly moving. Sitting close to some windows staring out, Elem could sense fragments of reality around her – Moset’s reconstruction of her medication allowed her a rather dampened experience of her abilities, more akin to looking through frosted glass. She felt the people around her, but only distantly. Their emotions weren’t even particularly clear, they were more like energy readings – intensities and wavelengths.

And then she nearly jumped out of her skin when a notification guided through her implant told her that she was about to listen to Glain’s latest call, prior to the one she received.

And then it came.

She wasn’t sure what to think of it, but did her best to conceal her shock. To think that Iltarel would say such things to Glain, knowing how he wasn’t well lately...! It hardly mattered what Glain might have done to him, it couldn’t warrant anything like this. Things had really broken between him and his best friend. Nall had splintered his family, and Elem... she wasn’t sure he’d be better off if she’d been miserable too.

The stations came and went, just like the passengers. At some point, a mother with her three daughters entered. They sat together at a window with a table, and she took the smallest of her children – possibly younger than three years old – in her lap, and pointed out different locations of interest, at which the child knocked her little hands on the window in delight and let out a happy laughter.

Their emotions were intense, full of energy and enthusiasm. Elem let herself get filled with those, fuelled into a serene smile as she finally reached her destination and stepped off. There, she ran into a group of soldiers who really wanted to strip search her, but when she provided her thumbprint, they were disappointed to learn that they had to let her pass, or they’d be illegal.

“Thank you,” mumbled Elem to the implant as she went on her way, following the trace planted ahead of her by the implant – she was offered the possibility to overlay a transparent map over her visual field, but found that to be a little bit disturbing, so she opted to choose audio instructions instead, following them until she arrived at the Gebalt Hill of Coranum.

Dwindling and with many angular steps, she  _ could _ very much see why he’d pick this place – it was very possible for someone not wanting to die to end up killing themselves over the stupid design. Dangerous, was what it was.

“Glain,” she called from far away, as she’d finally spotted him, “I know what you’re doing, Glain,” she added as she hurried a bit closer.

The young man was startled and just stared as she approached. Very quickly, he understood exactly what was going on and just shrunk a bit more onto himself where he was sitting.

“That’s how it’s going to be now, isn’t it?” he muttered. “Don’t get so close so happily, Elem. I’d like to rest near mother, but if I must end in a communal grave like a criminal, so be it. I don’t care what father would think of it. I don’t care what happens to him when I’m not here anymore. Maybe he’ll look at you and realize you’re the only thing left he has that’s close to a child of his blood. And don’t waste your time trying to convince me otherwise, because my mind is made.”

“Okay,” mumbled Elem as she walked to sit just next to him, crossing her legs, “but then I’ll sit here with you,” she looked at his miserable shape and laid her hand on the ground close enough for him to take, if he wanted to. “I don’t want you to go, but if you really must, then I don’t want you to die alone. No one deserves to die alone. And I want to hold you, you’re my brother, and I love you.”

He looked at her with a weak smile.

“You had the kindness not to kill yourself in front of me… I’d rather you go, Elem. I don’t want you to see that, and I won’t be alone. See that step further down?” he pointed one, “I believe that’s where Lukor died, last year. He was my age and he was my friend. Three Lidek,” he recalled fondly. He silenced for a moment then decided to tell more.

“If you’re going to stay… then you should know that Three was his title in Second and Third Level. I was Five. He’d come to outrank me although he started as Ten, lowest ranking of our section. And I was Eight. I should have been higher ranking by family status, but Melekor put me down on purpose, like he’d put Enjam down at Bamarren, where he started as Eight Revak. Feels like it was just yesterday…” he looked hazily at the past. “Lukor was smart, fierce… I respected him. And I respected Vydrain, our One. I still respect him, still count him as a close friend although we didn’t meet a lot since Lukor died. I believe it was too painful for him to see us and think of him… They’d enjoined, you know?” he glanced at her. “A discreet ceremony, almost secret, because Lukor had become Laal. I believe she must have been dysphoric, having to become the woman she never really wanted to be. She loved Vydrain. She loved him very much. She was pregnant when they came here for a walk. She fell. It was an accident, although I believe that for a split-second, it wasn’t.”

He silenced for a moment again.

“Vydrain was devastated. When you see Iltarel again… please, tell him this story. Tell him not to let Dayar end like this, because I…” he gulped, “I don’t want him to be devastated. I don’t want him to-” his voice started to crack, “-be  _ sad _ .”

There, he had to hold his knees to keep himself from crying, although his eyes were wetter. He took deeper breaths to still himself and went on:

“I have nothing left, Elem. Everything around me keeps on breaking, and I’m breaking along. I lost Enkem. I tried to take my own life. I caught Garak in a romance with an enjoined woman – Palandine Lokar – whose daughter I befriended. Her name was Kel,” he relaxed a little at her memory. “Garak killed her father, Barkan Lokar, who was a very important administrator of the Bajor colony, popular, loved, admired… From that point, Palandine forbade me to see her and Kel ever again; she might have thought I was from the Order. And then, Palandine disappeared, some time before the Withdrawal. The Order’s doing, I am certain. You have to be careful, Elem…” he looked at her. “I wanted you to know this, because… Because of Garak. Maybe you can use this information, somehow. Be careful with this.”

He silenced again for a moment.

“When my mother became ill, I told you it was terrible because she eventually forgot who I was. But that’s not the worst,” he resolved to say, although going through those events hurt terribly. “She started to confuse me for Nall, and once, she took me to her room. She kissed me like one kisses a shamar, and tried to engage sex with me. I didn’t know what to do; I was afraid to hurt her! When she realized I had no desire, she was confused and I had to comfort her. And it wasn’t the only time… I didn’t let it go that far again, but I didn’t know what to do and I had nobody to talk to but a hologram. If I had told the medical ward, they would have removed her and father would have been betrayed by me. And that’s the worst, Elem. Before I came to your joining, when Father refused to come, I got so angry that I told him that. And he… acted as if he heard nothing. As if nothing such ever happened. My sick mother almost raped me and my father… It feels like…” he shook his head. “Please, Elem, use this secret carefully, but mostly, never treat your children the way father treated me. Spare them the torment. Spare them the nightmares,” he turned to her and took her hand.

But he wasn’t finished yet and raised his other hand.

“I have fallen out of everybody’s favor. Everybody hates me, except you, but don’t be sad. It is probably better this way,” he tried to be appeasing. “When I was a Third Level intern, I was acquainted with a younger student, Sulial Loran. She was a very pleasant young woman and we got along greatly. Unfortunately, I unwittingly let her be under the impression that I was courting her, and this, Elem, is the greatest error a man may ever commit with a woman. It is a great offense to mislead a woman, and in my naivety and ignorance, when I had to reject her and she said it was fine, I believed her. But it wasn’t fine. It really wasn’t.” He marked a pause, darkening to a gloomier expression.

“I was happy for your joining, but it hurt too, to see you joined and happy when I am nowhere in my promise to father. Delna came to me, to propose to me in such a way that, I think she was merely being polite, because she revealed that she was then going to enjoin uncle Enjam. And I believe she’s happy about it, which is good. But it hurt on so many levels… I let you imagine, or feel,” he looked at her, letting his emotions show. “I downed several glasses of Kanar and aimed for the door, but outside, I saw Dayar and Iltarel, kissing most indecently, until Iltarel grabbed him and ran away with him. And those two idiots were caught having full-on sex in a shuttle…” he shook his head sadly. “Teval set me on the case and I went to the Ministry, half-drunk, to find out what I could do. Archon Sulial Loran was on night shift, and like an absolute idiot, I came to her and not only handed her the case, but accepted to testify and get Teval to pay her a favor.”

The memories were flocking in his brain and the emotions that had been repressed until then were starting to surface and engulf him.

“...I betrayed them all!” he cried in a weak voice. “She used me! She used me against Iltarel, against my luzzur! I was forced to testify and she officially bleached me as gender-conforming while she recorded him as social inbred, and she… she sentenced him to… to genital restoration. Surgery. He had surgery in the night!” his voice thinned to nothing.

His eyes felt oddly wet and dry at the same time and so did his nose, only pretending to be sniffly. Yet, the emotions were real.

“I betrayed them by my stupidity and lack of perception, and nobody will believe me nor forgive me, so… so it’s better for me to end the disaster. I paid Iltarel’s surgery so he can start saving to have another operation and… get a penis again so he can procreate… I transfered everything else to Tilayan’s account, for her studies. If you need help with Kilem, find a sponsor; a recommendation from Crell Moset should make that easy,” he spoke faster and held both her hands, looking at her intensely. “I love you, Elem. You’ve been a wonderful sibling, both a brother and a sister, and I’m glad I had a chance to meet you before this all ends,” he kissed her fingers and held them close to his cheeks. “Sokal will take good care of you. Everything will be fine. Live the wonderful and radiant life I’ll never have for myself, and remember me as this sweet, joyful and positive person I used to be,” tears made it out at last but he smiled and glanced downstairs. “I wish I could have told you more, but I’m thankful for this. …Now, I really must go, because there’s a fucker over there who thinks I can’t see him and perhaps plans on catching me, and I don’t care if I have to get him killed too, but I’m going down, Elem,” he glanced toward the agent again and started to get up.

Elem saved all those words in the back of her head, splitting her mind into factions mostly so she could analyze them and react to them inwardly and focus on Glain in the physical. She snatched his arm and helped herself up, holding onto him so hard that it brought her a small tingle of pleasure.

“It’s fine,” she told him as she wrapped her arms around him, “he’s with me, and it’s not him you’ll take with you... I heard the recording of you and Iltarel,” she told him more hushed as she crushed him to her, “if he was in surgery, don’t you think it’s plausible that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely himself when he said those things to you?”

His breath was nearly cut.

“Maybe, but… I still did this to him,” he gulped. “I could stay, I could work to repay entirely for what I’ve taken, but it’s the pain, Elem… I’m in pain, I’ve been in pain for too long, and I want it to stop. I just want the pain to stop,” he repeated and leaned against her. “You can soothe me now, but it’ll come again. I don’t want to become jealous of others, of you… I should be happy for you but…” his eyes thinned to a more vicious, reproachful expression, “there’s still this part of me that wants to pin you down that couch and fuck you hard and deep, claim you to the sound of that barbaric music you like,” he hissed in a lower voice. “And it’s all your fault for teasing me like that, for making me so full of you… So is it how you’d rather see me go?” he asked more aggressively and smirked upon the realization, “Maybe it’d be fair to Iltarel, a sweet revenge for him when I end up in a trial, as a sex offender. Would you like that? Would you like me to rape you so justice will take me instead?” he clenched his teeth.

Elem gulped and tried to forbid herself from thinking about that dream she’d had – which of course had the opposite effect. Her body betrayed her in the flesh, and her only reflex was to cling even more to Glain.

“Maybe that’s how that Archon of yours feels about you?” she answered in an attempt to keep on track. She was there to keep him alive, and as far as she was concerned, he was still trying to make her let go, by turning himself into something disorderly and repulsive: “I love you Glain, and I know you wouldn’t do that to me, you’re not like her.”

“But I  _ am _ , Elem!” he lashed out, trying to break free but failing to. “When I was just twelve, I made a holographic program designed with the sole and unique purpose to be used only once, on Two Darh’an – Milas Divak, his real name was,” he glared at her. “Iltarel had manipulated him into bullying me, and things got more personal between I and that Two. I humiliated him, and he humiliated me back. Silit could have died because of him. Nall was disappointed in me. Melekor beat me like never before, and I deserved it all for allowing Two to do this to me. I should have seen it coming! I should have been more careful! But I was young, I was arrogant, and I was a Rokat, so I got back at him. I used Iltarel, and together we recreated a holographic version of the Institute and of an interrogation chamber of the Ministry. Enar Dain’s actually. And I had a recording of him too!” he started to laugh nervously. “The night before Two’s assessment of accession to become Second Level, Iltarel kidnapped him and we put him in the holosuite, in my program. In the following two hours, that boy lived through a nightmare, Elem. A nightmare that traumatized him so much he completely dropped out of studies and ended up in psychiatric ward. I did this to him. Because I was young, I was arrogant, and I was a Rokat,” he said with spite. “Is that what you want me to do now? Get back at that Archon? Because that’s what a true Rokat does, and if I don’t, then I should disassociate already, and I’ll have nothing left.”

Elem smiled bleakly at Glain. She knew she should be horrified with what he’d done, but she was in no position to judge him, not with what she’d done at a similar age. So she kissed his chufa, then leaned hers against his.

“Glain Rokat, my beautiful brother, I forgive you,” she mumbled and closed her eyes. “I think you should get back at her, in a Rokat way. The clever way. Turning yourself into a criminal, now, that’s not an eloquent solution, is it?” she looked at him again. “You are not the only one she’s slighted – work with the Jarad family. They must be planning something, too. Find out what, and work with them, make sure your plans of revenge don’t cancel out each other. But please, Glain, don’t leave me. I need you, and I think you need you, too. Your future you will thank you for sparing him.”

“ _ Why _ would you need me, Elem?” he asked weakly, closing his eyes, because she was doing good at snuffing his angry feelings. He suspected she was using her abilities, although he wasn’t certain.

He could only feel her emotions reflected in him, the same way he felt with Iltarel. In a way, he already knew why she’d need him, the way he’d needed her to stay alive, but he needed to hear it, maybe:

“Because you are my brother, my family, and I love you, and you deserve the chance to become happy, and I want you in my life,” she rubbed his back softly, “I care about you... and I would never forgive myself for letting you go. So... perhaps you’d like to join me, and we’ll visit a tea house, and you tell me what you’d like to do to that Archon, and then perhaps we should contact Iltarel and explain. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

He sniffled and clinged to her clothes, at the sides of her hips, fidgeting the fabric as he thought of it. Progressively, more tears ran down his eyes and he buried his face in her neck, nodding discreetly.

“ _ I want my mother… _ ” he finally managed to utter in a voice torn and strangled by tears, and then he wrapped his arms around her and just cried.

They stood like this for a while, rocking from side to side a little. Elem hummed a little children’s melody to calm the other and once she felt like both their energies had settled to a less intense level, she took his hand, made a little distance and started walking away from this dangerous place.

 

The tea house she chose was largely abandoned – it wasn’t the time of day – and they got a table far in, around a corner, where they could sit discreetly. It was a fancy establishment; this was Coranum after all.

“I’m paying,” she told the waitress who had come up to their table.

The young woman nodded a bit and handed them their menus.

“We’ve got everything here except for the slabish juice,” she told them, and then took a seat at the closest table, because there was no one else to tend to, and her feet hurt a bit.

Although he wasn’t dead after all, Glain still felt dead inside and gave her a weary look.

“Go away. I don’t care whether you’re from the Order or not. They’re already watching,” he motioned his head at Elem, “so go get me a cup, half-choban fishmilk, half-black Kanar,” he sneered.

The waitress bolted up from her chair, fiercely blushing, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Glain,” Elem chastised him very softly and nudged his leg under the table before she turned to the waitress: “I’m sorry, he’s not feeling well. Make his order alcohol-free,” she specified and the woman nodded. “As for me... choose whatever tea you think this house does best, please.”

Another nod, and the woman disappeared in a hurried stride, while Elem turned to Glain with a smirk.

“Quark once told me that if you want to know the expertise of a place, let  _ them _ decide the menu. Though I am about certain it also means, ask for their best, pay the most.”

“Ferengi words of wisdom,” Glain agreed and slouched against the backrest of the bench he was seated on. “I feel outrageously… unwell,” he said. “I really wanted to die, Elem. I still do. I wish I wanted to live, but I just feel cornered. I’m not out of options, but I’m out of favors, and that’s the worse that can happen to a Cardassian. I don’t think the Jarads will forgive me, except Lukat, because he’s a rotten molt who wishes his little brothers were never born.” He inhaled and sighed. “Dayar will never forgive me either. He saw Enkem, you know? When father first told me about you, I was so upset… I put Enkem in that program I made with Iltarel, to talk with him and plan how I’d go to Terok Nor to convince you not to come here…” he smiled weakly. “The last thing I told him was…  _ I’ll come back and tell you ‘see, there was no reason to worry!’ _ But I came back and I had so much to do… I didn’t even take the time to remove him from the program, and then Iltarel took the rod, and took Dayar to the holosuite. And Enkem was there. And to protect us all, he… I guess he made himself unessential and killed  himself,” Glain closed his eyes. “He’d come to love me. I didn’t know. I hadn’t programmed him for that. He hid his feelings because they were contrary to his purpose, I imagine. I’m losing everybody,” he looked at her again, sad and distant. “I didn’t think I could lose him twice, but that’s what happens to me, Elem. I keep on losing those I love. I lost my mother when she forgot me, and I lost her again when I buried her few weeks ago. I’m losing father. I’m losing Iltarel. I’m hurting…”

Elem smiled a little and reached her hands towards him across the table.

“I only know what my own losses feel like, and I’m not going to pretend that they feel the same as yours; your pain is yours,” she told him calmly and leaned a bit forward, “But you haven’t lost me, and you haven’t lost Iltarel, or your father. And if something in those relationships is broken, then it can be repaired, and I will help you,” she promised. “Tilayan and Kilem see you as their big brother; they need you too. And then there’s Keelani; I know she is very fond of you. We’ll all help you. And you’re going to need help,” she added with a nod, “because I have it on good authority that you’ve drained your accounts. Which means, you have no choice but to lean back and rely on others, and in that, I believe you’ll learn just how loved and adored you are, Glain Rokat...”

He took her hands and leaned his elbows over the table, looking at her and holding her hands against his lips. It was indecent, and it was the moment the waitress chose to return and serve them – a creamy choban fishmilk for Glain, and another one for Elem, albeit sprinkled with taran crystal chips and pepper. Glain looked at the young woman and she made sure not to make any comment. Then as she left, he kissed Elem’s fingers.

“I love you, Elem. When you speak, you make me forget the pain. Then I speak and it comes back. That’s why I try either not to speak or speak so much that the words lose their meaning. That’s why I’ve drowned myself with work ever since my studies ended. I sought refuge in coding holonovels, in Iltarel too… He was my warm rock. He’s my luzzur and I love him. I love him so dearly and I can’t bear to have been used to hurt him…” he took a breath and let go of her hands to take his cup instead and warm his fingers around it. “I’m so hurt that I’m… not even angry at Loran. She just won and I concede defeat. In a way… what she did doesn’t matter. It’s Iltarel who matters. Iltarel and Dayar, because his happiness now depends on Dayar’s happiness, and that terrifies me, because Dayar isn’t going to be happy.”

“Then, perhaps we should focus on mending your friendship with Iltarel?” Elem suggested sweetly as she took her cup to inhale the pleasant fumes. “I’ll contact him, I’ll tell him what happened, and then I’ll suggest a meeting. Would you agree to that?”

“Uh,” Glain made bit of a face, thinking.

He afforded himself more time by sipping childishly on his cup, slouching, elbows still rudely planted on the table, and cream lining the shape of his upper lip as it bathed in the fragrant, bittersweet liquid. He was left with a mustache when he emerged again, and had to shave it off with his tongue.

“As long as you don’t tell him what  _ I _ was about to do in the Gebalt Hill… because that’s un-Cardassian, and unattractive,” he bargained.

Elem took a deep gulp of her tea while considering the request, then she rubbed her foot a little against Glain’s leg, as to comfort him.

“And what if that’s what I have to tell him to convince him to talk to you?” she asked gently, “Do you really want to hide all of this from your luzzur? Wouldn’t you rather let him know, so he can opt to be there for you?”

The young man rolled his eyes to the ceiling, a weary look on his face.

“Then you should tell him I conducted shri-tal and… now, you know everything. Although,” he paused, “I should tell you that, that night, while you and Sokal asked father to let you enjoin, I was in my room, kissing Iltarel… and it was good,” his expression softened. “I love him. That’s why it hurts so much. After all those years, you know? We went to Soukara together, with his colleague, that sweet doctor of the Parmak family. In the night, we snuck out of the military base and into the jungle. Just Iltarel, me, and the night. We were like children and then, I was happy, because we were together, so close. I wish I could return to that tree where we slept. I wish I could return to Sidjartan, when we were swimming together and his naked body was a lure to my senses. I wish he… I wish we can be together again like this,” he said and silenced.

Elem nodded to that all, then put her cup down.

“Those are things you might be better off telling him when you meet him,” she smiled confidently and lifted her PADD. “I’ll write him a message, and then we’ll see when he’s got the energy to read it.”

She cleared her throat a little and started to type.

“ _ Iltarel Jarad, _

_ Earlier today, Glain conducted shri-tal. I think the two of you need to talk – he is alive and physically well. I’ve bought him tea and I’m keeping him company, but he’s not feeling well. It would mean a lot to him, if you agreed to talk with him, and to resolve the misunderstandings between you. Please, help him. _

_ – Elem Dain _ ”

She nodded at that and sent the message. She could’ve shown it to Glain, first, but didn’t want him to feel too bad.

“Now we’ll just wait.”

Glain nodded to that and held to his cup, because it felt like the only thing left to anchor him to reality, along with Elem’s eyes.

 

In his hospital room, Iltarel was looking at the ceiling while listening to his father crying and telling him how he should have been a better father, how this was all Teval and Glain Rokat’s fault, and how they were going to erase that record and pay for the surgery so everything would be as if nothing ever happened.

“Glain already paid,” Iltarel said, overlapping his words over his father’s.

“What?” Denek blinked.

“I said. Glain already paid. He paid the fee to the Ministry. The fee for the surgery I’ve had. And it was a big fee. Which he paid. With his own money,” Iltarel finally looked at his father, laying a hard gaze on him.

“He paid the fee?” the man repeated and Iltarel flushed in annoyance.

At the same time, his PADD chimed and he grabbed it, lifting it with the intention to throw it at his father’s face.

“Alright, alright!” Denek backed off and away from the bed, pressing the chime to call a nurse. “We’ll make this right, Iltarel, I promise.”

“Just leave and don’t come back; I don’t want to see you or anyone for that matter!” the albino snapped. “ _ ANYONE! _ ” he added for the nurse who came in.

“Is it normal that he’s angry like this?” Denek worried to the woman.

“Side effect, it happens to some people,” she shrugged and loaded her hypospray, approaching the bed with a confident stride.

Iltarel was prepared to resist but hadn’t anticipated that she’d catch his leg and shoot him there instead of the arm.

“Ow… Just leave…” he said again, more weakly because he now felt fuzzier.

He sighed as the calming drug wrapped him in cotton, and the nurse took Denek out. The young man sat up in his bed, then looked at the PADD, then at the message. He didn’t want to hear from Elem, but he opened the message by reflex, and then read it. It felt strange and rather unreal. Eventually, he managed to type something back.

“ _ I am unfit to communicate now. Still at the hospital. Drugs. I don’t want to see anyone. Tell Glain Rokat he’s an idiot. _ ”

He sent the message and looked at it some more. Then typed a follow-up one.

“ _ Sukrat doesn’t die in the story. _ ”

 

Elem was proposing Glain to take him home with her afterwards, and introduce him to Sokal’s pets when the PADD buzzed, and buzzed again, just as she took it to open the message. She read both messages, made a mouth-frown and reached the device to Glain.

“I suppose you can read those on your own. I don’t know what the last one is about.”

He took it and smiled sadly.

“It’s a… debatable book,” he sighed. “ _ Nefarious Night _ , very popular. We had many arguments about it. Iltarel didn’t want to believe that Rektoran and Sukrat were more than luzzurs, although it was  _ obvious _ that they were romantically drawn to each other. And  _ that _ means there was something, because it wouldn’t have been published otherwise, and that’s how inbred romance must be read in between the lines of legal books,” he explained. “But in the end, they fall in love with the same woman, one who works for the Order and lets them both flirt with her so she can better draw information from them – although that too is only hinted. And then she enjoins another man; a military, probably to infiltrate Central Command more insidiously. Broca was smart, but Iltarel never liked her, although he’s always refused to admit that she broke the luzzurhood. He even considered that the two men couldn’t really be luzzurs, because ...luzzurs would never turn onto each other over a same love interest. Because true luzzurs are loyal, no matter what, is what he said…” and his voice died off a little.

He hid himself in his cup, emptying it, then took a breath and put it down.

“Let’s go home, Elem,” he nodded, looking at her mysterious black eyes.

##  * * *

There was a consensus in the Dain family that the bathroom was the coziest room of the house, and was also interesting in that it had two doors, which usually turned it into a shortcut to both ends of the house – except when it was raining, because one of the doors led to the ‘garden.’ This had two consequences: the first one being that the family passed by this room a lot, and the second being that they usually stopped there to talk, either getting cozy (and sometimes taking a shower or a bath out of inspiration), either standing in the doorway.

When Elem and Glain came home, Mijal and Ikandar were engrossed in one of those bathroom conversations, gossiping about the guests who came to the joining ceremony. Mijal, who was standing in the garden doorway (a very good position to watch her husband showering), was best placed to hear that Elem had returned and entered the dining room to welcome her back.

“Ah, there you are, sweetscale,” she smiled fondly, then realized a young man was following. “And here’s our spear bearer,” she cooed, noting he didn’t look most fresh. “If you’d like to use the bathroom for a conversation, I guess I’ll have to tell my man to get done with his shower.”

“I wouldn’t want to throw Ikandar out of the shower,” Elem denied almost instantly, “but if we could get access there, it might be sweet for Glain’s mood. He’s a bit, how do you say it in Kardasi... I’d say under the weather, but I don’t know how that’s translated.” She blushed a bit as she remembered the rather embarrassing moment some days ago, when she’d tried to translate a phrase directly. The look Enar had given her had been quite something.

“If that’s a forecast, it’s a gloomy weather,” the old woman nodded and turned to the garden. “Sulim!” she called, “Get out of the bathroom!”

“What?” the old man’s voice replied and he soon appeared. “What did you say?” he asked, then darkened at the sight of the visitor. “You didn’t tell me we have guests,” he grunted and went back to pass a bathrobe.

“Sorry about that,” Mijal gave Glain an apologetic look.

“It’s your house,” Glain shook his head, “and not the first naked man I see.”

“Braggart,” she chided. “Well, I’ll let you get cozy,” she clapped her hands and left to the kitchen.

Elem however had blushed slightly – she’d managed not to run into the other family members naked up until now, and she had to admit that Ikandar was really rather attractive, and  _ that _ was a thought she’d rather unthink before it went really strange places.

“Thank you,” she thought to say after Mijal, although she’d already gone. “Ha, hum, let’s go,” she guided Glain to the bathroom, where they, of course, ran into Ikandar again. “I’m sorry,” she said to him, still blushing profoundly.

“Overly sexual Betazoids…” Ikandar muttered, more to let her be aware he’d seen that blush, and he left.

“Really?” Glain looked at Elem. “And I thought I was deviant for being with men in their fifties…” he shook his head but smiled softly.

Then he saw himself in the mirror and turned away from it, starting to undress instead.

“I thought I’d have to be orderly in this house, but that’s quite a start, isn’t it? You’re not afraid?” he asked while she closed the doors.

“Afraid?” she asked with confusion, “Are you going to try and seduce Ikandar? Because I don’t think he likes men.”

“I don’t think he does,” Glain agreed and just leaned against a cupboard, arms crossed and looking at her sibling undress, see if more than her hair had changed.

Elem’s body in itself hadn’t changed too drastically, except maybe that there now was a longer slit on her front, diving further down between the legs. The current Cardassian thing had been to turn her entirely female, and there had been no surgeons who wanted to be disorderly and only do the job halfway, so her male part had been reduced to something much smaller too. She tried not to think about it, mostly because she was a little scared of doing so.

It was about at that moment, when she’d gotten the dress entirely open, and dropped it to the floor with her underwear, that she realized Glain was watching her. She smirked a little and shook her head at him.

“Yes, I’ve changed a little – had to. For the enjoinment,” she gesticulated to her more private parts. “Sokal convinced them to sign a contract to follow my wish to restore my original male physiology whenever the newest rule additions are nullified – which it will be, according to him.”

“I see,” Glain said rather coldly and stared, jaws clenched. “You must like him a lot,” he concluded as if there had been doubt about that.

Elem cleared her throat and picked her clothes from the floor, folding them a bit with a look to Glain.

“Yes, I do...” she confirmed wearily, then went over to him, so she could set the clothes on the counter just next to him. “I wouldn’t have enjoined him if I didn’t like him. It  _ wasn’t _ just sexual attraction. Just because it was the reason I first pursued him, doesn’t mean that I don’t love him. He’s my shamar, and my husband, and I’m his. Why is that strange?”

“I just hope that didn’t hurt,” he said more softly, more slowly too, and delicately laid his hands on her chest, which was still the same. “I don’t mean physically, I also mean… you know. It’s a big change. I don’t want to see you hurt…”

“Perhaps we wouldn’t have had to hurry so much if it hadn’t been for the fact that Nall had thrown me out...” she looked down at his fingers gently exploring her chest.

The tension between them, she felt, was growing into something very wrong.

“Let’s have a shower,” she interrupted herself and took one of his hands to drag him with her, “it’s warm and comforting for anyone who isn’t feeling well. I’ll shampoo your hair,” she suggested rather sunnily.

“Alright,” he accepted.

Water fell onto them, enveloping and pleasant indeed, relaxing. He had to close his eyes for a moment, to wet himself completely, then sat on the little bench, so she could tend to his hair more easily.

“We’ve never done this yet,” he reckoned. “My sweet Elem… Do I even deserve you?” he sighed, pleasure showing up in his voice as he slowly melted under the touch of her fingers rubbing his scalp.

“Of course you do, and I’m glad to have you,” cooed Elem as she enjoyed the sleekness of his hair, mindlessly continuing downwards to rub his neck, too. “You’re going to smell so good; this perfume is one of my favourites,” she told him as she spent attention on each and every scale.

He smirked to himself and let her do, easily easing into the arousing sensations.

“I hope it’ll always bring up good memories, then,” he mewled in pleasure. “I know it will, to me…” he said, looking at the perversion beyond his gentle words. He didn’t really feel like trying to be a good Cardassian and a good brother. He didn’t have the strength for it. “I like your voice…” he murmured hazily. “Sokal is lucky to have you around, to hear all those beautiful sounds and melodies coming from your throat…”

Elem tried not to be disturbed by his words – in fact, she wished she was more disturbed than she was. Instead, she let him indulge. After all, he was unwell, and he needed all the encouragement he could get.

She took water in her hands, and then rinsed his hair gently, repeating the movement while humming to herself, a slow sweet melody. Then she cleaned his neck the same way, letting warm water lick his skin clean of foam.

“You’re my brother, Glain,” she reminded him softly, so that he wouldn’t go too far into those fantasies. Then again, she wasn’t sure if it made those fantasies less appealing.

“You’re my brother too,” he smiled and looked at her over his shoulder. “I know, it’s not what you’ve been notated as, but that doesn’t change that you’re both, and in the private, nothing forbids you to be both. You can be my sister… you can be my brother… or you can be my sibling, as you wish,” he listed slowly, turning over her and getting up to look at her better. “Sokal really is a lucky man. I’ve got no doubt he knows it, but that doesn’t change how I feel. ...And how you feel,” he dared say.

Elem swallowed and looked away.

“And neither does it change the fact that it’s not something I’m going to take part in,” she answered to that, finally daring to look back at Glain. “I’m your... and it’s wrong. And I’m enjoined, and I’m loyal to Sokal. Now even less than before could we ever... this, what’s trying to happen.”

“Shh…” he set a finger on her lips. “You’re right, it would be wrong to indulge… but we can talk about it like adults, right?” he smiled and looked into her eyes like he’d try to get inside her mind too. “There’s this connection between us… but you didn’t use to be attracted to me too. What changed, Elem?” he let his finger wander and caress her cheek.

Elem turned a rather dark color and withdrew.

“Glain, it’s not proper,” she reminded him, looking toward the door in hope that Ikandar would randomly arrive to save her with his cranky self.

He sighed and went over to the bath, entering the water and sinking there.

“I don’t care what’s proper or not anymore. I think I’ve forgotten how to care, obviously, because I only seem to care about what’s wrong and improper. I’m not sure I can be redeemed anymore. I don’t feel like it right now anyway. Maybe I should ask Siram to host me for some more time. He’s my longest-lasting relationship after all. It started some time after my attempt to kill myself. I was… fifteen?” he shrugged. “He’s a wonderful mind, this man… and caring, and loving.”

“Maybe it’s a form of self-harm?” suggested Elem, remaining where she was, sitting on the washing bench, in part with hope to conceal a bit of arousal, “You do what’s obviously problematic, to undermine any chance of something positive and orderly to surface...” she looked at her toes. “I had a dream, about you,” she admitted in a lower voice, “it was... very disturbing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I dreamed about you too,” Glain said and told of his nightmare as if recalling something real: “...And on the bed, there was Iltarel. And Dayar. And you. You were all mostly naked, entwined, caressing yourselves with lithe fingers,” he showed, caressing his own forearm and relaxing in a mewl of pleasure. “You were having a good time, and this sinful image still haunts me, hot and intensely erotic… Although it wasn’t as erotic to me when I dreamed that dream. I yelled at the three of you,” he squinted, “I yelled that I needed help, but you all laughed at me…” he said slowly, “because you, Elem, had already fixed the warpcore and everything else. The ship was working perfectly. I was unneeded, and I woke up. And my pillow was wet with tears,” he gulped. “I didn’t study psychology but I believe that dream was straightforward-enough that I can understand its obvious meaning. A pity I couldn’t even enjoy the sexual part of it,” he sneered. “So, tell me Elem. How was your dream of me? Did we have sex?” he guessed and leaned over the edge of the tub to better look at her. “How much did you like it? How good was it? Tell me your dream, Elem, tell me so I can know what’s my role in your life now… Tell me so I can think I have a purpose in your subconscious.”

Elem crossed her legs and hugged herself with a bit of a shudder.

“You  _ do _ have a purpose in my subconscious,” she tried to explain and glanced at him, but only enough that she didn’t have to have eye contact. “I think it simply means I... desire to be with you, and desire to have you in my life. That you bring me something, and that it’s good.”

He smiled softly and rested his chin over his arms, crossed over the tub’s edge.

“I love you,” he said gently. “I wish I was having as much of a good time in reality as I likely did in your dream. Although, I suppose Sokal wouldn’t like that,” he sighed. “He’s a good man. He’s so mature and I’m certain he’ll be a wonderful husband and a fantastic father… I guess it’s hard being where I am when everybody else seems to be going on with their lives. Sometimes, I wish I were infertile so I wouldn’t have to worry about joining. I know I’m privileged to be capable of reproduction, but… Father must be right. My scales are still so soft and fragile. I think he’s starting to regret pushing me into finding someone, pushing me into becoming a Conservator…”

Elem looked carefully at Glain.

“Maybe you could tell him how you feel, try and convince him to let you become something else?” she suggested, “I’m sure he’d rather have a  _ living _ heir who takes a different path, than a dead heir who died an unenjoined Conservator – I know he loves you. I’ve seen it.”

Glain didn’t answer to that yet, thinking. Then he laid back in the water.

“You’re right, yes. I know that too. But he doesn’t. He’s turning into another man, Elem, and I don’t like this man of pain and suffering. I don’t like the man who threw you and Keelani out, who refuses to give me advice when I beg for it despite his promise to do so, who refuses to acknowledge what he’s done to me when I tell… And he talks about being responsible,” he snorted.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then got up and got into the bath, too. The water was a soothing embrace, and the topic was enough to distract her from those other ideas.

“He wouldn’t be the only one my mother ever betrayed,” she cooed a little as she looked at Glain. “I was hoping he’d calm down, but then, emotions and ideas can change so quickly, and stay that way so easily. You did that too, with me, remember? You were dead-set on turning me away, and then you changed your mind to the opposite, very quickly, and very strongly. Your father might be undergoing something similar to that... I wish I could talk to him, but I’m scared he’ll say things that will hurt me.”

“And you would be right to…” Glain said a bit sadly. “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on in his mind, but what I know is that he’s resentful to his father. Maybe he sees Melekor in you. Seems probable considering he sees him in me too.”

He silenced, looking at her, then opted to tell more.

“You’re my sister, Elem, but you’re also my aunt, so you should know that Enjam and Nall aren’t your only brothers,” he began and told what little he knew of Zetik, Zylesta and Meridine. The unfortunate demise of Zetik in transporter ‘accident’ and that of Meridine, whose name he never was allowed to chant on the Day of Losses for she died a criminal. “And Zylesta… Zylesta became a repair technician. Grandmother never stopped to hope, and in a way, I’m glad she died before I too became a part-time repair technician alongside my occupation as archivist. She would have been so stressed to see me going through space… Zylesta was commuting through space, once, and the ship just when missing, and we still have no idea of what happened. Quantum anomaly, black hole, wormhole… We don’t know. And so, that’s for your siblings, whom you’ll never meet, courtesy of Melekor. He never even tried to avenge them, because that’s how he was, hard and stoic. He never would have shown any hurt, any pain.”

Elem wasn’t sure how to react.

“When did Melekor die?” she asked after smiling a little at her brother. “How old were you?”

“Twenty. Mother was ill and father and I had gone to have a break in a teahouse. Just as we’d decided to stop talking and worrying over mother’s illness so we could try to enjoy life, we came home and there was Melekor, passed out at the kitchen table. I understood what had happened in time to stop father from shaking him to try and wake him – he could have gotten electrocuted by residual energy from that PADD. I had to make the call to get someone to deal with it. And few days later, grandmother conducted her own shri-tal and died, in time to be buried with him,” he recalled and tears came to his eyes. “I still don’t understand, you know? How she could love him so much… It’d been an arranged joining, they weren’t very intimate, she was most often calm and reserved, abiding… and yet, she loved him, despite all he’d done to her family, to her children.”

“It must have been very nice for him to have someone so profound forgive him over and over again,” Elem leaned against the edge of the tub. “I wonder if she would’ve forgiven him for creating me, however. Ah...” she looked down at the water and massaged her forehead, “but does this mean that Melekor raised you more so than Nall?” she gave him a moment to dwell on it. “Do you think that might be why he refuses to treat you like an adult – I’ve noticed that he treats you more like a little child, and while you’re my very cutest little brother,” she grinned, “you’re still an adult, and Nall seems... overprotective and controlling, out of love I believe. Melekor and him seem like very different persons. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. I haven’t been here long enough to judge.”

“Well…” Glain said. The warm water did marvels at making the brain work better, he had to admit. “You might be right… I mean, I was notated just in time to start studying at Sidjartan. I was the youngest of my section, and possibly of the entire First Level that year. From age ten, I was removed from my family and only saw them on holidays. I still remember when I came back after first term, and had to announce I’d been ranked Eight. Nall was so angry at his father for doing this to me, treating me as if I were a bastard, but there was nothing he could say or do of course…” he nodded. “But then, he gave me Silit to take along with me to the Institute. He said Silit would teach me things, but I never understood ...until the other day,” he sighed and sat in the bath. “He wanted me to learn to care, but just when I was starting to, that’s when Iltarel came into my life, and I connected with him instead. And then… Then Two Darh’an had me put into isolation for a term, and I wasn’t allowed to get to my room where Silit was locked in my personal space. I spent two months hoping one of my section mates had managed to free him, but when the Tret Akleen holiday came, I wasn’t allowed to go get him. I had to return home empty-handed and Melekor was the one to punish me. Not father,” he nodded again. Then added: “And two days later or so, Sulek turned up with Silit, and I’d never been so thankful before. But you’re right… Melekor was always the one to punish me, criticize me, and everything my parents did, especially Nall… he somehow ruined.”

The sound of calm water lapping against bodies and architecture lulled a softness into Elem, who closed her eyes in content.

“And now he’s destroying the bond between you and Nall, and perhaps even you altogether, considering what you wanted to do...” she hummed in conclusion. “Does he deserve to have that big an impact on your lives?”

“No… Of course not,” Glain answered. “We were all unfit to appreciate his direction of the family… because  _ he _ was unfit to do it right. And you know, that’s only the surface. He never conducted shri-tal, but I’m certain he wouldn’t even have told of all the dirt he must have done that we didn’t see. Because… because I’m certain there’s more than meets the eye. But you’re right. It’s time to… to put an end to this. He’s dead and he should stay so. Next time I see father I’ll… I’ll try to tell him. Maybe it’s not too late, and I hope he can… I hope he can forgive your existence. After all, it’s not your fault how you were conceived, and you’re a good person. You’re a better child than I, and you can heal,” he said and moved closer to embrace her tenderly. “You’ve saved my life several times already… how can he not see it and be thankful?”

Elem welcomed Glain into her arms, and held him close, rocking them both a little back and forth for comfort.

“I don’t know... I hope he’ll change his mind about me, someday, but I won’t go as far as to expect it. Some decisions we make, we make so strongly that we can’t undo them, even when that would be better – the logical mind doesn’t have much reign over those emotional impulses, and what’s been un-felt rarely blossoms up as hotly again after the flames are gone. Unless it’s anger,” she added with a small headshake.

“It’s true…” he said a bit blankly. “I don’t feel for father as I did before… It’s like something is broken. But maybe that’s because he doesn’t feel like my father right now. Maybe, when he’s more like himself again, maybe when we reconnect… maybe then I’ll feel those strong feelings of love and devotion again, as I always did before.”

He took a deep breath and looked at Elem. The long hair changed her face, but there was still something a little masculine in those features.

“I think I now understand why men aren’t allowed to have long hair,” Glain said, changing the topic, because he felt himself getting warmer and knew that wouldn’t go unnoticed. “I… I’d better get out of this bath before getting disorderly again,” he gulped, looking into her dark eyes, arousal dilating in his own.

Now, that wasn’t what Elem had wanted the hug to produce, and the comment caused her neck to darken a bit.

“Indeed,” she agreed and removed her arms from him so to shuffle away a little and make some space. “It was a  _ very _ nice dream,” she told him in a whisper, “but that’s all that it was. A dream.”

“I know,” he whispered back softly, “I hope I’ll get nice dreams too. That would be fair,” he teased her gently before getting up to leave the bath with his mild arousal.

He passed a towel around his hips to get more proper and took another one to dry himself.

“Thank you, Elem,” he looked back at her. “You bring me life. I won’t spend the night here however; I think it would be inappropriate, because I don’t think I can stop thinking of those things yet, and… you and Sokal deserve better. But I promise I won’t be alone,” he assured.

“I’d rather you stayed,” Elem turned around and leaned her arms on the lip of the tub, “but if you really need to leave, I’d like for your friend to pick you up here, and that he stays in contact with me so I know you’re safe.”

“Ah,” Glain tensed a bit, “I… I guess it would be fine if we join him at a transport station, rather than here… I’d rather not… unnerve the Dains, nor him,” he tried to keep diplomatic. “And… father must never know.”

Elem couldn’t suppress a giggle as she lifted herself up from the water to go wrap a towel around herself.

“I won’t tell him,” she promised as she bent over to rub her hair in the towel as well, squeezing water out of the black mess, “as long as you think he’s good for you, and as long as there’s someone to keep you safe, I’ll keep all the secrets in the world for you.”

“I guess that would be in Order,” he dared joke, then looked at what he’d just said and started chuckling like child.

Elem pretended she hadn’t heard that, and carried on with getting dried and dressed. Once in her clothes, she looked rather wild with her half-damp hair running down her shoulders like curly claws. Glain on his behalf was taking time to comb his hair in front of the mirror.

“Father thinks I don’t know what love is, and I think he’s right. But that doesn’t mean I won’t learn, one day,” he looked at her. “You’re both right. I don’t love, I just go on destroying myself with loves that never were meant to be. Enkem, Iltarel, you, Dayar… I hurt you all with my misplaced feelings and lust. I wish I knew how to stop that, how to flip the switch,” he pinched his lips. “I’d better message Siram. He’s the one I haven’t hurt yet, after all,” he went to his bag and fished his PADD. “Don’t tell Iltarel about him either. Nobody must know,” he repeated and looked at the screen. Then groaned.

There was a ton of notifications. He pressed a button to discard all those from the Ministry, but there were more. Some seventeen missed calls from Keelani, a handful from Enjam, even some from Tilayan and Delna. He frowned and raised darker eyes onto Elem.

“Did you tell them of what I was doing?” he asked.

“What? No, of course not,” Elem answered in ignorance as she took his place near the mirror to  _ try _ and comb her hair, “There’s a reason I kept it short,” she remarked as the hair got more tangled by the brush than it had been before, “do you know how long it takes to get it to behave? This hair fashion thing is really dumb.”

Glain hummed although he hadn’t really listened. He was hesitating to check the text messages from Keelani. After all, maybe this wasn’t about him. It would even make more sense if it weren’t. It couldn’t be about him, could it? Looking down at the screen, he braced himself and opened the series of messages. They were few of words, and minutes apart:

 

‘ _ Glain, please call me back when you get this message.’ _

‘ _ You need to come to the hospital, your father had a heart attack.’ _

‘ _ I know the two of you aren’t on the best of terms, but he nearly died, and he’s in a bad state.’ _

‘ _ He’s stabilized – where are you? Don’t force me to send someone to get you.’ _

‘ _ I hope whatever’s more important than this is worth it.’ _

‘ _ He’s awake and asking for you, I don’t know what to tell him.’ _

‘ _ They tell me you didn’t come to work. Glain, stop being silly.’ _

 

Glain had silenced entirely and just looked at the screen, still and expressionless. Somehow, he could feel Elem was about to react, and moved before she did.

“I have to go,” he said. “I… just have to. I’m sorry for all the trouble,” he looked back at his PADD to check how long it would take to get to the hospital from where he was in Torr, then started to type a message to Keelani, simply telling he was on his way.

“I promise I won’t do something stupid so soon, and if such ideas go through my head again, I’m sure your friends will tell you again,” he put his PADD back in his bag and approached to look at his sister and lay a kiss on her cheek.

“Wha – Glain, where are you going?” Elem caught his arm so he couldn’t escape too quickly, “What’s going on?”

“Father needs me,” he said, trying to gently back off. “It’s going to be fine, it’s just that he broke his hip. You know, he’s old,” he argued. “I’ll make sure he’s alright,” he promised.

“Oh...” Elem didn’t let him go, smiling a little, “tell him I’ll keep him in my thoughts, and that I hope he gets better soon. I suppose I shouldn’t be offensive and come along,” she shook her head to herself and then followed Glain out of the bathroom, only releasing him there.

“I expect to hear from you on an hourly basis, and don’t you try to set up any sneaky scripts; I’ll recognize the pattern in a tick if you do – you’re not the only one technically talented in this family,” she added with a wink.

He chuckled at that and kissed her chufa.

“I promise. I’ll set a timer then,” he picked his PADD and did justs that. “There, that’s done.” He looked at her and caressed her hair. “You should use conditioner for your hair. I’ll try to find you something,” he nuzzled her, then remembered he no longer had money. “Well, I guess I’ll have to wait for my next wage to come first. Take care, Brinindal, and don’t strangle your husband with your long, long hair of wild instincts,” he winked and left, letting her investigate that one riddle on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	35. IV - Broken heart

#  Broken heart

He had to run a little to get to the transport station in time to catch the right shuttle, change two times to get the liaisons and finally reached the hospital. He entered and went directly to the elevator to access the floor where Keelani said his father’s room was.

“Excuse me,” a short, rather plump nurse stopped the young Rokat rather briskly, “this is a restricted area, only authorized personnel and relatives to the patients are permitted, and since you’ve got no escort, I must assume you’re either lost or in so much of a hurry that I should help you find your family,” she smiled a little and nodded to him. “I’m Mirasai Tolak, assistant nurse, at your service.”

“I am Conservator Glain Rokat and I am here to see my father, Nall,” he replied curtly. “Please,” he enjoined her to follow up by taking him to the right room.

“Ah, His Rokat,” Tolak beamed as she turned them around entirely and led the way, “He came in earlier today, as you might know – we’ve stabilized him, but we’d like to keep him for a while yet – he’s a little too old to warrant a heart replacement. At this stage, he might just do better with the one he has, than with the ordeal of an operation,” she suggested kindly as she turned around a corner. “When you talk to him, please try to keep the conversation neutral. Don’t say anything that would upset him or have him experience any stronger emotions. The man needs his rest and peace to recover well.”

They stopped by the door and she knocked the wall a bit before triggering the doors to open so she could step in.

Inside laid a rather thin man underneath a rather thick blanket, with bedding so fluffy around him that he nearly disappeared into them like into a cloud. By the foot side of the bed sat Enjam, busy with a PADD, discreetly chatting with Delna and Meret. At the headend sat Keelani, whose face was still a bit poofy and sore. She’d been stitching something that she’d laid on her lap the moment Glain entered – at which she got up and glared accusatively at him.

“You’re finally here,” she told him like a reprimand, then gesticulated to the chair next to hers. Enjam, too, looked up, smiled a little and returned to the PADD.

“He’s asleep now, but I don’t think he’d mind getting woken up by you,” Keelani said.

Glain stood still for a moment, just looking at the state his father was in, seemingly not reacting to Keelani’s words.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” he finally said. “It’s because of what I told him when… when he wouldn’t come to the ceremony…”

Keelani puffed herself up a bit.

“No,” she said simply and sat back on the chair, since she was tired, anyway, “it is because of what  _ I _ told him when he wouldn’t come to the ceremony,” she corrected him and continued to stitch on the green little tunic. “We had an argument almost on par with the one I had with Lykrain the day we decided to get enjoined – oh, Glain, it was passionate and  _ most _ foul,” she added to make sure no details would be lost on the young man, “things were said during that argument that... at any rate,” she cleared her throat casually, “I nearly killed him. And I think that, if anything, is an indication that  _ I _ was right. Don’t you agree?” she eyed Glain with smug darkness, one that told him  _ I’d give you heart attack too, if you dare contradict me _ .

“He tipped a chair over himself when he fell,” Enjam told from his corner, “Keelani tried to trick me to believe she’d thrown it at him. Thankfully I’m not that daft.”

“Enjam, you killjoy, now I can’t trick him!”

Glain massaged his forehead and gestured at the door.

“That means ‘ _ get out _ ’,” he thought to specify when they didn’t get up. “I am in no mood to joke,” he indicated simply. “Let me have this, just this, please. Just a moment between me and my father,” he steeled himself some more and approached the bed.

Enjam got up and left without a protest, while Keelani eyed Glain with some more scepsis before she decided to follow him.

“You should’ve been here sooner,” she scolded him as she exited through the door – it was obvious that she wanted to say more, but she’d tell it to Enjam instead.

Once he was alone with Nall, Glain sat next to him on the bed and held his hand, very gently and carefully, as if it were made of thin, delicate silk paper that one could tear far too easily. He looked at him and leaned to pull a strand of hair out of his forehead, then resumed to his position and waited for the old man to wake up while softly caressing his hand and forearm with light fingertips. Then, after some minutes, he started to hum a lullaby. The sound was low and weak at first, but as the melody went on, he cleared his voice a bit to sing better.

 

“ _ Where do the clouds go, far over the sea, far over the sea? _

_ In the unliving hours of night and day, _

_ We dream that we play, we dream that we play. _

_ In the waken hours of night and day, _

_ We dance and we laugh, that is what we’re taught. _

 

“ _ Where do the birds go, far above the sun, far above the sun? _

_ In the warm hours of the happy years, _

_ We fly and we flirt, we fly and we flirt, _

_ In the warm hours of the tender years, _

_ We lay and we grow, that is which we live for. _

 

“ _ And what is the sky for, so immense and tall, so immense and high? _

_ The sky, tahkmar, is for the clouds and the birds, _

_ To weave in secret the days to come for Cardassia, _

_ The sky, tahmar, is for Father and Mother, _

_ To sing and dance in all their love for Cardassia. _ ”

 

The first thing Nall felt was someone tickling him, and somehow he could  _ feel _ that this someone must be his little Glain. Then, as he regained more wits, he realized it was because the boy was singing.

“You came,” he mumbled with a satisfied smile, not yet opening his eyes. “I was... I was afraid you’d gone to disassociate yourself for real,” he looked at him at last, eyes a bit tired: “Where were you?”

“Lost,” Glain answered softly, like a late apology. “I was very lost,  _ yadik _ … but someone found me, and then I came,” he bent forth and kissed the old man’s chufa. “I love you, for all that means, coming from a man who doesn’t know what love is. If it’s not good enough for you, I’m afraid you’ll have to get back on your feet so you can teach me. Teach me like a father teaches his son,” he nuzzled him and straightened up again. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I’m sorry it took so long…”

“Oh, sweetscale,” Nall cooed with concern, and he held his hand, squeezing it gently, “you came, that’s what matters.” Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through the mouth, “And if you don’t know what love is, perhaps it is because I didn’t show you well enough... I always loved you, Glain,” he reassured him, in case it was needed, “but perhaps there were times when I should’ve shown it better. I don’t know... and now you’re not a little child anymore. I worry it might be too late for me.”

“It’s not!” Glain denied, shaking his head, “I’m still so small, and my scales are so frail and soft,” he leaned and set his father’s hand on his neckscales, smiling fondly at him. “You did good, father, you always did… but weren’t we all living under Melekor’s oppression? He always had to be the one, didn’t he? And I wish I understood sooner,” he sighed.

“I always felt like he took you from me,” the elderly Cardassian’s voice turned weak, “even more so when we realized I might not be able to give you siblings – Melekor was relentless,” he remembered with a groan. “He helped me hide it so that I could stay with Liyara. But he also suggested that  _ he _ might give you siblings – she always refused, your mother. She didn’t like him much, but they never argued.”

Somehow, Glain knew he shouldn’t be surprised at this revelation, but it made his guts twist and his fingers cramped.

“That…!” he hissed, managing only by a little to hold back the foul words that had come to his mouth. He felt dirty, although he’d very recently had a shower. “I wish I could scrub him off my genes,” he muttered. “I never liked him much either. ...But I always loved  _ you _ , father,” he looked at him and softened. “I’m sorry I got so lost… I’ve been… I’ve been missing you. These last years, I… I was away from everything. It was all too painful, everything. Everything broke and we drifted apart, but I can see that now, and for all the distance, I yearn for nothing but to be close to you again. I want to be your son. I want to be Nall Rokat’s son, because I grew up looking at you and it really meant something to me, to be the son of this kind man, this elegant, eloquent, handsome Conservator. I remember when I was just a little child… how much it all meant to me,” he smiled with more warmth. “And you and Enjam. I loved when you were together. I’m guilty as charged for fueling arguments between you two, because then, I could witness your strength and passion, and the two of you were  _ fierce _ . It made me feel good. Stronger too. I thought to myself,  _ I want to be like them _ ,” he confessed, looking at his father with bright green eyes. “I never felt this for grandfather. Never.”

Nall chuckled a bit, then winced and stopped.

“That’s a little bit disorderly,” he told him with raised eyeridges and a slightly questioning look, “instigating arguments for your own pleasure... I hope you stopped with that habit. Though...” he looked at the ceiling to fetch some memories, “I don’t blame you. I used to make women argue quite a lot to get a better view of what I had in front of me, back when I was trying the waters to see whom I’d end up courting. And the pleasure I drew from witnessing that wasn’t exactly innocent,” he added with a grin.

Glain chuckled a bit.

“I might be your son after all, then,” he decided to point. “You know… There’s something I need to tell you, because I think it’s important, but I’d rather you don’t get angry this time. Now isn’t a time for arguments; it’s a time for healing, and that’s why I have to tell you. I hadn’t realized how much of an influence Melekor had on our lives, and I couldn’t understand how we’d come to this. How  _ I’d _ come to this. I was  _ very _ lost, father,” he squeezed his hand in his own. “I wouldn’t have come if this light hadn’t been shed to make me see how things were. And I wouldn’t have come if this light hadn’t been shed by Elem. She understood it was better not to come, but she told me to tell you her thoughts are with you,” he said simply.

Nall sighed and, since he didn’t have the energy to turn around, he simply shut his eyes.

“It’s not who she is, it’s what she symbolizes,” he tried to explain once more. “Melekor, my father, I don’t know if you ever realized, but he always liked to humiliate me, in order to remind me of my place in the family, or rather, the fact that I  _ wasn’t _ the family head. It was subtle things, small things, like making fun of me or undermining my authority,” he cleared his throat. “And he’d do that in front of  _ her _ . She knew how he treated me, she most certainly knew what pleasure he drew from it, and how it made me feel. She’d comfort me when I spoke to her of those things – to think that all along, she was the greatest humiliation of all, in that not only did she  _ let him fuck her _ , she also conceived. And it wasn’t mine – it wasn’t mine and she didn’t tell me. I  _ do _ believe the hag is still alive,” he added with a teary squint to the above. “It was his final, worst act of humiliation. To bring a halfbreed into my family – and I very nearly declared her as my own! I was so gullible!” at that point, the doors opened and a nurse stepped in to take some readings.

“What were you discussing?” she chastised him a little, “You’re supposed to stay calm, Your Rokat – and you,” Tolak gave Glain a meaningful look, “I told you to be gentle.”

“I  _ am _ gentle,” Glain returned the look. “I’ll let your rest, father, but symbols are un-Cardassians. Maybe you should take facts for face-value, if you can, someday. She’s a victim too, after all, but such tales aren’t for now,” he caressed his face. “You stay alive, because the stories I have to tell you are worth living to be heard,” he said more firmly and drew himself out of the room.

Outside, Keelani stood with her arms crossed over her chest to look Glain over like he was hiding illegal weapons.

“Can I go back in, or are we all banished from his presence?” she asked him rather firmly.

In the background, Enjam stood leaned against the wall, the light from his PADD reflecting subtly in his eyes. He might have appeared to be looking at it, if it weren’t for the fact that the dark of his eyes were directed at his nephew.

“Delna says you’re to come stay at my place,” he told him without any room for objections, “and since she says so, I say so too, and as Nall is in no state to lead the family, I’ve been assigned to lead for the time being,” he jolted off of the wall.

“Then tell this murderous woman to get back home and care for the  _ children _ ,” Glain looked at Keelani. “I believe Neimi’s in charge? As if she weren’t already in charge from here to here,” he gestured from his belly to his neck. “I know Tilayan and Kilem will be studying medicine, but I’d rather they don’t get a first hand experience of having to deliver a baby if she gets stressed – I’m not sure they’d survive it,” he scolded the woman. “Now,” he turned to Enjam, “I don’t have free transport clearance in Akleen, so if you want me to come, you’ll have to pay me transport titles,” he said darkly and walked away to avoid questions.

“I’ll talk to Nall  _ first _ ,” Keelani gave Enjam a look that told him that unless he wanted to nearly die, he’d let her have her way, so he simply lifted his hands, palms and PADD toward her, and then joined Glain.

“Delna said you might do that,” he told him as they reached the elevator and entered into it, “So we reverted one of the cat rooms into a bedroom, so we could host you if need be. Pity we were too late with the arrangements, seeing as you already... I guess that’s why you weren’t with Nall earlier.”

Glain’s mood was quickly turning to something darker and annoyed.

“Oh, great, so you already know about all that? Why, I just thought I’d offer Lukor some company,” he sneered. “But I take it you had the kindness not to tell Keelani…” he sighed. “When are you two enjoining then? Delna moved in already, as I take it?” he asked a bit harshly.

Enjam, who had been holding his PADD close to his chest, lowered his arms to hang a bit more motionless by his sides. Then, he halted the lift between two levels, entering military clearance so that no one could override.

“Glain,” he began with dark honeyed patience, “I know what she did to hurt you, but it was because of her father – and she’s a victim of him too. I’d apologize for being happy, but that would be petty and aggressive,” he looked at Glain meaningfully. “I love her. I know, I’m too old for her, and frankly you must find me a little bit disgusting and a great deal disorderly, but I  _ do _ genuinely love her, and I think she loves me too, so please... don’t be angry at me. I don’t want you to be angry with me, nephew.”

“I’m not angry at you,” Glain sighed, “Or yes, I guess I am, but not for that. I’m just… I’m just angry at myself,” he admitted and looked at him. “I’m far too disorderly. What’s between you and Delna is good and beautiful. A man and a woman… What is there to criticize about that? And I believe she loves you too,” he shook his head and leaned against the wall. “I wish I were gender-conforming,” he groaned. “Did you tell Nall about her?”

Enjam looked at Glain for a while, then shook his head.

“I didn’t dare, the nurse said not to upset him, and I’ve got a very strong feeling that he’ll refuse to let us enjoin,” he fiddled some with his PADD again, and then held it to his chest. “He thinks his own sister is a reminder of Melekor – what wouldn’t he think of Delna? What she did to you, and the fact that she was at that trial. And that she’s very young, and I’m... not,” he sighed with a smile, then added, “And when I say I love her, sexual things are not included,” he made sure to clarify. “I don’t think you  _ need _ to feel those urges in order to love someone. I mean, I don’t. Sometimes I worry that I’ll end her up with a boring old man, wasting her youth on me...”

“Let her decide,” Glain shrugged. “I’ve slept with men just a bit younger than you and they weren’t shamars. I don’t see why the opposite wouldn’t be possible.”

Then he groaned again and turned to lay his entire face against the wall because he’d reminded himself of why it was that he had a hard time wanting to stay alive lately.

“Can we just go home before I end up… I don’t know, disappearing completely?” he asked and weakly banged his head against the wall.

“Do you want me to stun you?” Enjam helpfully offered, laying a hand on his phaser, then pausing a bit. “No, that would cause too much of a scene, me carrying you out of here. I’ve got a better idea.” He fed the unlock code to the elevator, but by the time it reached the bottom floor, it no longer held anyone to release.

They materialized  _ briefly _ at the nearby guard station, and were then transported directly into Enjam’s hallway.

##  * * *

Glain felt slightly disoriented and looked around a bit wildly, as if expecting to be assaulted by something, when Delna arrived. She was equally spooked as she hadn’t expected them to be back so suddenly and startled a bit.

“That was fast!” she commented. “I mean, welcome back,” she corrected herself and smiled, adjusting her gown a bit.

“Ah, the perks of being a Glinn,” Enjam boasted with a toothy grin.

“Hi,” Glain just said.

“Hello Glain,” Delna replied.

The young man sighed and went for the kitchen. The woman followed, starting to make a quick inventory of available drinks.

“I’m not thirsty, I just want to sit,” Glain answered to that, although he did feel a bit thirsty now. He let out a whimper of agony as he planted himself on a chair at the dining table. “Why do I have to be alive?” he groaned.

“I’ll make you some warm fishmilk,” Delna just said and set to do that.

Meanwhile, Enjam disappeared into the bedroom to change out of his armor and into the less colorful of the outfits Delna had gotten him. Then, he stared into the mirror for a while to order his hair some – not that much of that was necessary; his hair was naturally perfect, unlike Glain, who seemed to have inherited his  _ mother’s _ beautiful tendency for curls. He’d have very sought after daughters one day, Enjam was certain.

Then, he grabbed some of his makeup to add just the faintest of blues to his chufa – it was hardly noticeable, and he only did it because he’d discovered that Delna seemed to have interesting reactions to it, and although he was pretty certain they were most subconscious on her part, he still enjoyed watching her.

He smiled casually as he entered the kitchen at last, and took a chair to sit on, leaning his chest and arms against the backrest in the most disorderly way. Chairs weren’t meant to be sat on like that.

“Glain lost all his money,” he implied, “unfortunate how those things happen, isn’t it?”

Glain looked at his uncle, barely believing what he was seeing. Had he been less depressed, he too would have had a reaction, he was about certain. Either way, he started chuckling and shook his head before throwing a look at Delna, whose neck had darkened a little, as to ask her ‘What have you done with my uncle?’ before leaning back into his own chair.

“How unfortunate indeed,” Glain replied. “Is it going to be a contest of who’s the most disorderly?” he thinned his eyes and smirked, showing a bit of teeth. “If you want to lose your money too, bet on yourself, because I’ll win,” he warned his uncle.

“Glain…” Delna tried to say, but he raised her hand.

“No. No, no, no,” he gestured at them both. “You wanted me to come, you listen and you deal with it, because  _ I _ did not ask for this! I was planning to go see a good friend tonight, get his care and get fucked senseless until I’d forget who I am. And since neither of you can do that to me, here we are,” he glared at them. “It’s very nice that you’re in love and I’m  _ sorry _ to come with my little problems, but let me make it a bit clearer so you understand better what the exact fuck is going on with me,” he said, making it clear that he wasn’t to be interrupted.

He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Delna,” he looked at her. “I think the closest I’ve ever been to falling for a woman was with you, but I think that’s because I was falling for Iltarel at the same time. That night at the ball, it was my first romantic experience and I was genuinely thankful for all the dances that we shared,” he allowed himself to smile at the reminiscence, and she too smiled while starting to add lok cloves and yujee sugar in the fishmilk she was warming and stirring.

“In hindsight, that night was also my first romantic experience with Iltarel. We were so young and innocent, not even aware of what was drawing us so close, because we couldn’t conceive of it yet. And then came that other night. That sorry night,” he looked at her and lowered his gaze. “I tried not to think about it because I didn’t want to think of what he did to you. I simply hoped he would leave us both alone in the end, and then, I stopped thinking about it at all. I went on with my life like a good Cardassian, except I fell into this ridiculous trap your father laid for me, using that poor boy,” Glain heaved. “It was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me then, because I did meet a man in that bar, and he was the darkest thing Cardassia ever conceived,” he went onto his Obsidian romance and his early flirts with death “I loved him. I still love him. I hope I’ll be able to meet him again someday, and ask him to forgive me,” he pinched his lips.

The atmosphere in the kitchen had changed, but Glain didn’t care. Instead he admitted to his disorderly behavior and frequent sex with men, sparing what would have been too much details, yet still letting through the shamefulness of his acts.

“...But the true disgrace, uncle… oh, where do I even  _ begin _ to narrate? And can I truly tell you everything? I’m afraid I can’t… I’ll let you know that when I was working at the Bureau of Alien Affairs, I met Dayar Edar, and I sought to become his friend and court him,” he led onto the more recent events pertaining to his love life and that of Iltarel and Dayar.

“...I was drunk and Archon Loran made a fool of me. She sentenced Dayar to rehabilitation, but compelled me to testify  _ against _ Iltarel, declared me to be gender-conforming, branded him social inbred – over a  _ first time _ sexual experience with a man’s  _ female parts! _ – and sentenced him to genital restorative surgery. And so, earlier this afternoon, I paid for the surgery because I felt so guilty, and Iltarel called me, and he no longer had his penis and was so angry,” Glain seeked refuge in his cup because emotions were coming back at him along with the vivid memory of the call. “And he told me… he told. He  _ screamed _ at me that he  _ never wanted to see me again, _ ” his words ended in the cup along with tears as he finally broke down. He had to put the cup on the table, almost to stabilize himself as sobs took over.

Delna moved her chair to get closer and rub his back while Enjam got something for the young man to wipe his tears with. Glain took the towel and hid his face in it until he could recover a better breath and continue.

“I transferred all the money to Tilayan, for her studies,” he kept on crying, “and I called Elem to tell her to pay for Kilem, and- and I. I went to the Gebalt Hill but- but the Order tracked me and- and Elem,” he sniffled and hiccupped, “And because she was there I- I- conducted shri- shri-tal and. And she- she held me. I couldn’t. I thought when- when she was about to kill- kill herself with her rifle. I’d stopped her and… I couldn’t do that now.”

Delna put a hand on his and held it, gently rubbing his fingers in a way that wasn’t unlike what Elem did earlier. Glain cleared his throat a bit.

“She took me home, to Torr. She cared. And then I found all the messages. I told her that father broke his hip so she wouldn’t worry. I love her… my beautiful sister…” he ended in a weak, squeaky voice.

“Oh, Glain…” Delna murmured. “There, drink some more, sweetscale…” she gave him his cup back and he suckled on it like a child, anxiously looking at the other two with poofy eyes. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”

Enjam had to wonder if this was what Nall’s work was like – rambles of confessions, disturbing details and shocking revelations. Why anyone would want that job was a riddle to him.

“I can see how that ended badly,” he said as he sat in his chair normally again, crossing his legs a little. “Glain, you should have recognized that you were in no fit condition to help – because I recognize your good intentions. But, as a Glinn, and a fairly old and successful one, I feel like it’s my duty to tell you that you need to learn to trust other’s abilities to solve their own problems – problems they caused for themselves. I don’t care if he’s your luzzur, I am sure both families involved could’ve solved this on their own. Not to say you’re not necessary,” he added with a careful softness, “only that sometimes, the most constructive choice is to refrain... and you will have many such choices ahead of you, Glain. Every time you engage, you risk that, if you fail, you lose not only the fight, but also the battle – one of the first lessons they teach you at Bamarren is that if you think you’re the only one who can solve a situation, then you’re probably also the first to die,” he smiled a bit and looked at the floor. “Of course, I managed to help my group avoid that mistake altogether. Courtesy of lessons I already learned from my father,” he shrugged and then sighed, leaning back in his chair. “So how do you propose to heal the damage you’ve managed to stupidly inflict on yourself and your bond with Iltarel Jarad? See, I think our families benefit more from staying in each other’s graces, so you’d better come up with something, Glain Rokat.”

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted, fighting hard not to start crying again, and Delna shot a somewhat sententious glare at Enjam.

“Alright, maybe it’s a bit early to think of a solution right now,” she gently massaged his shoulder. “Everything’s a mess, and maybe you need to take a step back for now, hm?”

He sniffled and nodded.

“I thought so,” she smiled. “You’re in no better condition right now than when you went to speak to that Archon, so let’s just care for what is. Mend you back in shape, and then… Then you’ll see if you’re up to do something. Anything. Or nothing. Sometimes, vengeance isn’t necessary. And I have a feeling that there are others who might be more tempted to exert that vengeance, so let’s rather make sure anger doesn’t fall on you.”

She turned to Enjam again and smacked his lap.

“Alright, Glinn, you have a new mission then. You’re head of the family for now, so you’ll make sure that neither the Jarads nor the Edars strike at Glain, and try to gather some intelligence about what they’re up to,” she smirked.

Enjam pursed his lips in contemplation.

“I will invite them for dinner,” he resolved, then looked around, “or to a restaurant, so that they won’t think I’ll poison them. And then I’ll tell them what Glain told me, and then I’ll ask them what their plans are and how to stay out of their respective ways,” he smiled a little. “There’s a time for being discrete and scheming, and this isn’t it. Discrete scheming is what created this problem in the first place; blatant obviousness, I believe, is the better cure. Glain,” he turned to the messy young man, “do you think Iltarel would eventually calm down enough that you may speak to him? If not, you should write him a letter.”

“He… he said he’d contact me when he’s ready, but,” he sighed, “I know he just won’t. I suppose this would be an occasion for pen and paper,” he nodded and let out a sad, nervous chuckle. “I always get back to pen and paper when I wreck myself like this, isn’t it?” he looked up the ceiling, searching for a bird on a branch that existed only in his memory, then fiddled with the insides some and finally extracted an old pen. “Do you have paper then?”

Enjam cleared his throat and got up from the chair. He left the room to go downstairs, where he sooner found Tain than the paper he was looking for. Still, after a bit of digging, he returned upstairs with a black cat crankily stuck under his left arm, and a sheet of pale paper in his right hand.

“I thought he could help,” he explained about the cat as he sat the paper on the table and the cat in Glain’s lap.

“Tain,” Glain smiled and cuddled him some.

Of course, Tain didn’t really welcome the cuddles, but he endured stoically, although he tried to figure escape routes and kept tense, hoping to maybe jump away at the first occasion. Yet, eventually, he found that the cuddles weren’t  _ so bad _ , and started to purr a bit. At first with the idea to lure the Cardassian into dropping guard, but then… then the sound turned more genuine and the cat made himself cozy on the young man’s lap.

Delna looked at that with amusement and got up to refill Glain’s empty cup before starting to take from the fridge the zabu meat she’d put to marinate in the morning, and set to stuff it with fresh cheese and slices of kiloran ball fruit. She put them in clay dishes with their little cap each, and set them in the oven while Glain started to write his letter of explanation and apology. She kept on cooking, preparing the ker’hal and more sweet fruit, and some hasperat she’d bought on the black market. It made for a delicious spicy-sweet sauce.

“You should leave that work to the housekeeper,” Enjam thought to tell Delna, in case she wasn’t aware that such tasks were beneath her, “when you become my wife and pregnant, it won’t be very healthy for you to take on such a tedious lifestyle: you’ll have to do everything to relax, feel well and I’ll make sure you’re made to be very comfortable and satisfied.”

He’d sat down again, more proper than before.

“It will all be as it should be,” he promised most solemnly as he picked his PADD to start an attempt at writing messages for the persons involved. Then he realized he wasn’t sure whether he should be contacting Teval or the actual head of family, so he swapped to the Edar family, only to note to himself that it seemed to be even more complicated there, in that only the uncle resided on Prime.

“You know, I quite like cooking,” Delna giggled. “And I’m not pregnant yet. Nor enjoined. And it wouldn’t be too good that I’d get pregnant  _ before _ that. Of course, I don’t want your housekeeper to run out of work, but considering the help she’s provided in reordering the room earlier, I think she deserves a break tonight,” she said while adding the chopped fruits to the sauce base she’d prepared.

She hummed to herself a little, trying not to be too distracting yet. She stirred her pots and glanced at the men and the purring cat. It felt good to be with them. It felt like she was finally getting to have a family of her own, and she thoughtfully rubbed her belly. It would be nice to have babies with Enjam, and Glain would be a good uncle once he’d get back on his feet. She just knew it.

Enjam hummed a little and looked sidewise at Glain.

“Do I contact Iltarel’s father or his uncle? And how do I do for the Edars? I can’t figure out who I’m supposed to talk to there. Which ones went to the trial?”

“Talk to the uncles,” Glain groaned, “you should know they’re the ones that matter, right?” he looked at him with a faint smile. “Denek Jarad is an idiot who doesn’t know the first thing about his son. Teval is the one who raised Iltarel. And Demeny is the one who raised Dayar. As far as I know, relationships are practically cut between those two and the family head. So talk to the ones who care. The ones who’ll answer.”

Enjam put the PADD down and blinked a bit at that.

“I would’ve thought I’d be best off contacting whoever considered it in his greatest interest to exact revenge,” he rectified with a squinting look toward Glain, “and it’s not always the one with whom you’re the sweetest who will pick up phasers for you,” he took a long look at the PADD. “I suppose I can invite the uncles  _ and _ the family heads, and then whoever comes, comes. And considering I’m  _ both _ , I guess offering that representation to the others would increase my chances of coming off as sincere,” he picked the PADD, but put it down instantly. “That, or I’ll get ganged up on,” he looked emptily in front of him. “I wish mother was still alive, she would’ve known what to do.”

“Alright,” Delna said, tapping her ladle on the edge of a pot before turning to her husband-to-be. “I believe Teval is the one who got Glain involved in that matter, so you call him. He has a responsibility in what happened to his nephew. Denek Jarad would be worth inviting, but you should discuss with Teval  _ when _ to make him arrive or for how long he should stay. After all, maybe you’d be better off with a lunch with Denek to gather intelligence that you could take up at dinner with Teval and Demeny. As for the other… what was his name? Kantar Edar? The Soukaran chef, right? You said he’s never talked about Dayar, so don’t call him. Stay away from fathers who don’t acknowledge the existence of a child,” she waved her ladle before returning it to the pot. “You have your orders. Call Teval, make your offer to see him and Demeny – you’re all uncles and responsible for those kids,” she gestured at Glain. “I expect Denek might be a stranger animal to handle.”

“Have you kept tabs on us?” Glain squinted at her.

“You wish,” she smiled.

Enjam flushed a bit darker and took his PADD with a grunt, staring a bit at it as he pulled up Teval’s contact link and looked at it rather than making the call.

“Ah...” he looked at Delna and then got up to go get some privacy for his conversation.

“Glain,” he told before leaving, “help Delna prepare the salad to go with that food. She might not be pregnant, but that doesn’t mean you should just watch while she does all the hard work,” he gestured a bit to her, then disappeared into the bedroom, where he sat cross-legged on the cushions and finally dialled to Teval.

Somehow, he half-way hoped the call wouldn’t get picked, and that was also at the same moment that he realized that it’d be a video call, and that Teval would see his  _ atrociously shameless appearance _ , which caused him to blush, which caused it to be even more atrocious, and he  _ hoped _ Teval wasn’t going to notice.

The signal rang for some time, but just as Enjam was about to think the call wouldn’t be answered, it was picked and a woman in a gown answered, hair still wet from showering. Serila was a fierce military woman with sharp, intelligent eyes.

“Yes, handsome?” she looked at him. “Were you trying to reach me or Teval?”

“Teval – I’m sorry for the interruption,” he added and cared to make it more gentle, “I can call later, if it’s better.”

“Oh, no, do not worry,” she shook her head and looked away. “Here he comes,” she smirked and went to sit her very pregnant self in a long chair further in the back of what seemed to be the living room.

Whether she was angry or incredibly amused was hard to figure. As Teval came into view, he also wore a gown and was ending to wipe some kind of blue oil from his face.

“Oh, Enjam,” he snorted, “I see you’re starting to discover the joys of having a wife?” he eyed at him. “You look more graceful than I do. But please, tell me what’s the matter?” he asked although he clearly had an inkling.

Enjam cleared his throat and straightened up a bit.

“I need you,” he told him in a rather harsh way. “This situation is not good for our families, and I have determined that it must be managed with all three parts involved. Therefore, I have been tasked to set up a meeting between you, me and...” what was his name? “Demeny Edar, I think,” he nodded, “but first I need to know when I can safely meet Denek? The plan is that I’ll harvest some intelligence first,” he nodded to himself, pretty certain he hadn’t forgotten anything. “Oh,” he realized, “also, I am temporary head of the Rokat family, because Housekeeper Dera’an nearly killed Nall,” it was  _ a little _ amusing to share it, “she threw a chair at him.”

Teval couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Dangerous woman… I imagine she’s getting away with that too?” he raised an eyeridge and shrugged. “I can contact Edar, but first, I’d like to know  _ who _ tasked you to set up this little meeting?”

Oh, Demeny and Teval knew each other  _ that _ well already. That was potentially not good. Enjam writhed a bit where he was seated, looked to the back of the room, then at Teval again.

“I’m glad you’re happily enjoined and fruitfully fertile at last,” he decided to compliment the other, as a way to distract him from the follow up, “and, for your information, I take orders only from two persons – Gul Meret, and the woman I’m courting. The latter is the mind behind my current orders,” he paused and looked around for discretion. “If I tell you who she is, I’d like it very much if you didn’t tell my brother in turn, because I haven’t told him yet, and I don’t think he’ll have the predisposition to properly appreciate my choice,” he straightened up with a more dignified, but weary, expression.

“Please, indulge my curiosity,” Teval crossed his arms.

“First, I will have you know that she’s a highly respectable woman, very much capable of her own choices and with sharp wits, and that I will not tolerate any argument to the contrary,” he laid out in defense of himself  _ and _ her, “and furthermore I want you to know that I sincerely do love her and respect her,” he swallowed the tightness in his throat. “Her name is Delna, she works in social services, and the first time I personally met her, was at a trial,” he smiled a bit sinistry, because he was sure they should be able to figure it out from there.

“Oh,” Teval easily came to the conclusion, “that’s a twist I wouldn’t have seen coming. I’m glad to see you can still surprise me after all,” he said and turned to his wife. “You heard that, Serila?” he asked and she grinned.

“Not completely unpredictable, sulim. You’ll have to read more romance books,” she taunted him. “Still, it’s rather funny. I take it you’re planning to enjoin her into your family, Rokat? Maybe you should set that housekeeper to wield chairs better…” she suggested shamelessly. She was pregnant enough to be shameless.

“Ahem, Denek,” Teval returned to topic, blushing a bit at the insinuation. “I believe he’ll be easy to convince if you act ah… the military part. My brother is rather upset at me and at your nephew at the moment, and at that Archon too. If I should be honest, it’s not so much of a difference from before. You know how he’s always been angry at the entire world…”

Enjam nodded, ignoring the comment about the chairs, because he wasn’t exactly sure whether Serila was implying that Keelani kill Nall or Delna.

“Then I must meet him, so that I can ensure he’s not plotting to damage you and Chief Editor Edar,” he looked toward his bedroom door, which had opened, “When do you think he’d b-” the screen was momentarily covered by an orange monster looking much larger on screen than it was in reality, “-Calyx, no – don’t do that,” Enjam whined.

The cat had stepped on a button, which in turn had activated a file transmission.

“I’m sorry!” he lamented as he put the cat aside, “I meant to ask, when do you think he’ll be available? - I think I just sent you last week’s shopping list for the cats.”

“Yes, thank you, that will be useful for your next birthday,” Teval smiled at the other’s embarrassment (and Serila laughed). “I don’t know my brother that well so you’ll have to ask him when he’s available. The sooner the better however. That idiot must be snooping records he shouldn’t be snooping around,” he suggested.

“Ah,” Enjam concluded and got his chin knocked by the purring cat, “I’ll call him when I’ve changed into something more fitting, then,” he smiled a little, “I think we can solve this...”

“Yes,” Serila answered from the chair, “terminate that call and help me up, sulim,” she ordered Teval. “I wasn’t done smearing kurakan oil on your face.”

“Certainly…” Teval gave Enjam a toothy, embarrassed smile. “For Cardassia,” he said and ended the call.

Enjam blinked at the darkness and afterimage of Teval, then fiddled around with the PADD nervously. He nearly called Denek already, when he recalled the state of his face and got up from the bed to change out of the soft clothes, eagerly returning to his hard shell and washed face. Then, he decided to go into the kitchen again, to see how the cooking was progressing.

“I talked with Teval,” he announced his success, then switched into something more curious, “What’s kurakan oil?”

“It’s oil made from mashed kurat fruit and rakan nut oil,” Delna answered, and now she had bit of a craving for fat kurat. “You won’t be having dinner in that armor, shamar, so get on with what you’re doing. You have fifteen minutes,” she warned him.

“I thought, since I needed to calm down a little, that it could wait until after...” Enjam started with a bit of a pleading look towards Delna, who naturally couldn’t see it, since she was turned away.

“Shamar, if you really are so distraught, I believe I can replicate some of that oil to rub on your face later tonight,” she said gently but glared at him. “You have fourteen minutes.”

Enjam sighed in defeat and disappeared back into his bedroom where, this time, he sat by the wall monitor and arranged the camera to catch him in an angle that would make him look as if he was in an office. Then, he initiated the call with a more strict expression. He sprung into action the moment it was picked.

“We need to meet at your earliest convenience, Your Jarad,” he puffed himself a bit.

It took a moment for Denek to identify the man, because he’d picked as soon as he’d read Rokat’s name. He’d forgotten than Nall and Glain weren’t the only Rokats.

“And what do you want, Your Glinn?” he asked cautiously.

“Glinn Enjam Rokat, temporary head of the Rokat family,” he nodded a bit to the other. “I seek to settle matters between our two families in light of the recent rather  _ disorderly _ affair. It is of importance to the State that things are solved in a timely fashion: I would like to come to a solution before I have to depart from Prime again.”

“I see,” Denek answered dryly. “Do you intend to pay for my son’s surgery?” he asked. “As you might know, he no longer is in condition to procreate nor to enjoin, as a result of your nephew’s actions.”

Enjam raised an eyeridge and leaned back in his chair.

“I see that we have much to discuss – lunch tomorrow? Midday at an establishment of your choice? I’ll pay for  _ that _ ,” Enjam smiled kindly, “I have other matters to attend to; I only put aside ten minutes for this call, and I’ve already spent nearly half of them”

“Alright. Meet me at the Kalab Metet restaurant on Tarlak Five-Two, at midday,” Denek accepted the offer and sent the coordinates of the establishment. “Thank you for contacting me,” he cared to say before ending the call.

Enjam relaxed into relief and finally got up from his chair, caring to go to the kitchen to tell that he’d made the call.

“I guess he’ll be less prone to put all the blame on you once we dine in public,” he leaned against the doorframe with hopes. “I’ll have Meret loan me a recording device, so I can properly document the meeting,” he pursed his lips a bit dramatically. “He didn’t ask why I was temporary head of family. I think he might already know.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t care,” Glain answered from where he sat, out of Delna’s way.

“Well, if you’ll be so sweet as to go get back into clothes fit for dinner, we’ll be eating in a moment,” she suggested meaningfully to Enjam and sieved the kur’hal. It was the common brown and black type of seed, and she hoped it’d look good with the red and yellow fruits in the orange sauce.

She let her husband go and asked Glain to take the meat out of the oven and serve it on the plates. The young man obeyed promptly, and when everything was ready, he lighted the floating candles in the water bowls decorating the table. He wasn’t sure that was useful, but Delna thought it was necessary.

“It’s when you think it’s not useful that it becomes necessary,” she caressed his hair and kissed his forehead. “Beauty isn’t a luxury, Glain, it’s a vital source of life. We’re not living without it,” she said and sat.

Enjam returned, wearing the same discrete outfit from before, just in time to see the exchange of softness. He wasn’t sure he approved nor disapproved, but there was an unmistakable tingle of anxiety in the pit of his stomach – what if Delna had decided to go ahead and court Glain anyway?

“I hope I’ll be able to satisfy you in that regard,” he dealt as he went to take a seat, entirely unaware that the way he’d said it had come out almost passive aggressive.

“Uncle…” Glain groaned, “If you have any insecurities about that-”

“-They’ll vanish once I put kurakan oil all over your face,” Delna interrupted and smiled at her man. “Now, eat and tell me if it’s acceptable,” she enjoined him to do, starting to cut her own meat.

To her own opinion, it was absolutely delicious. The meat was juicy like she wanted, bore the nice flavour of the marinade, and yet the fresh cheese brought a cleansing note, and the kiloran ball fruit chimed with a hint of soursweetness. The kur’hal was slightly dryer than she’d hoped, but she couldn’t really help it, and the sauce made up for it well enough, creamy and a bit sticky from the sugar. Glain at least seemed to approve although that in itself also seemed to surprise him.

Enjam ate silently at first, thinking that perhaps Glain would want to talk some.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” he complimented when his nephew remained inconclusive, “you have done a remarkable job at bringing Cardassia to life here in my own kitchen,” he beamed sunnily at Delna, then looked to Glain, “and you too, you  _ did _ help, after all. I’m very proud of the both of you.”

At that, Glain returned him a clueless face. Then recalled he had done the salad and let out a “oh” with a headshake.

“I suppose that’s one good thing learned at the Institute,” he answered. “I always liked cooking.” Then he remembered all the times he’d cooked with Lukor and that Lukor was dead, and he saddened a bit again. “So, uh… how did it go, the calls?” he decided to make the effort to at least try and divert the topic.

It was a good meal but an awkward conversation, and he felt a bit bad for Delna. She didn’t seem to mind however. She didn’t cook to get compliments, she cooked to give something nice, and it was given freely.

“Calyx sent last week’s entire shopping list to Teval,” announced Enjam, because it was the most important part, “and as it turns out, Teval knows Demeny Edar, so he’ll contact him for me. And, then, I talked to Denek Jarad, who agreed to let me take him for a date tomorrow at the Kalab Metet restaurant...” he sighed with a head shake, “at least he didn’t pick the most costly option.”

“My, my… Sounds like everybody’s inbreeding,” Glain mused in answer. “His Edar is an infertile man and a very protective father. Who knows if he’s been talking with Teval with plans to get Iltarel and Dayar enjoined or if he’s flirting… He’s a shameless man, and ambitious too,” the young man raised an eyeridge. It felt good to talk shit about Demeny.

Enjam looked at Glain without entirely understanding how he’d come to that conclusion. Then, he drew some of his own, and had to put his cutlery down.

“Don’t you tell me you had sex with this Demeny Edar person! You should’ve said earlier –  _ Glain _ , why would you do this?”

Glain snorted.

“I didn’t, although I wouldn’t have minded; he’s attractive and I’m certain he would have been very interesting in bed,” he smirked a bit. “But you can’t court the son and bed the father; that’s very disorderly, and while Demeny would have been fun, Dayar is… ah, a star far, far away, lost in a darkness I never had the first chance to hope to navigate, even less hope to cross. Arrogance woven in tales of overconfidence, ambition reflected on waves of delusion… My fall came to be before even I could understand at all,” he hummed in self-pity. “I’m pathetic,” he concluded.

“No, you’re arrogant again,” Delna denied. “No matter how hurt you’ve been, there’s a thing you didn’t get to learn in your life, and it’s to be rejected with grace. And now that you’ve experienced not only rejection, but to see your luzzur being chosen over you, it’s traumatic. The Cardassian brain isn’t very good at dealing with situations that hadn’t been anticipated in any possible way, situations that never should have come to happen. But the Cardassian brain is resilient, Glain. You feel pathetic now, but that’s now. It’ll get better in the future, I promise,” she smiled. “And you’ll find someone. It probably won’t be Dayar, but there are many, many wonderful person who are deserving of your love, and I believe you even deserve their love too.”

“I know…” he sighed. “Mentally, I know…”

“But your heart and your body yet have to realize,” she reckoned. “It’s fine. Wounds take time to heal, especially the invisible ones. And I believe you’ve been neglecting some, and now… And now it comes back to you. Maybe you could use a bit of therapy; not the sort that washes the brain, but the sort that truly seeks to heal.”

Enjam sighed and crossed his arms over his chest matter-of-factly.

“As head of family, I decide that you should just stop looking for someone to enjoin,” he announced with a head shake. “You’ve got enough with trying to stabilize your own – which is also why you’re not going to see any of your sex partners, and if you really have to, you’re forbidden to have sex with them. Instead, you should be working on getting back on your feet, and regaining a sense of self that isn’t tied to relationships. We’ll help you,” he assured him, “and I think that soon enough, you’ll actually come across someone who likes you enough to be your friend, and then might even consider enjoining you.”

Glain swallowed that with difficulty.

“It’s a very good idea,” Delna approved of Enjam’s decision, speaking softly. “Sexuality can be a good release, but it can also detract you from your own self,” she argued. “Comfort is good so long as it expands you. When it comes to the point of being something you need to drag yourself forwards, it’s not a good sign. A healthy person should be capable of getting through the days and weeks without needing to have sex with someone else.”

Glain kept silent for a moment.

“Alright, let’s imagine that,” he finally said. “And then what? I mean, I’m already a mess. You really think that can get better? – I don’t.”

“I think it can get better and I think Enjam is really right,” she kept her position. “But if you’ve decided it won’t get better, then it probably won’t. You need to want things to get better and you’re going to need to trust us. I know it’s difficult, and I would understand that you wouldn’t want to trust me, but you should at least trust Enjam,” she pointed. “He’s your uncle, he’s your family, and at the moment he’s also your head of family.”

Glain heaved a sigh.

“I’ll  _ try _ ,” he said although he wasn’t really convinced and didn’t really want to be convinced either.

Enjam, who appreciated getting agreed with, nodded to that and continued eating his meal, during which he told Glain of the scheduled military exercises he knew would take place around the house. Then, as the discussion drifted, he also ended up mentioning that duty would eventually recall him to space. Gul Meret had mentioned a charting mission, which stirred great optimism in Enjam – technology had evolved since the last charting, and some planets might turn out less barren than they were currently believed to be. Glain’s mood seemed to have significantly improved during the meal, and Delna wasn’t entirely sure what she thought of his shifting attitudes, but she figured she’d do her best to keep her eyes on him.

After dinner she took a moment with him to synchronize their agendas, so their working hours might match better in order to allow them to meet more easily on off hours so she could take care of him and watch that he didn’t do anything stupid.

She showed him to his room too. They found that Tain had decided that the bed was a good place to sleep, and the feline reluctantly agreed to share the space with the young man.

Glain spent more time in the room to read the letter for Iltarel. He spent the following three hours reviewing it, rewriting, editing, rewriting again, and starting over. It took time, but in the end, he had something that felt honest enough to be shared, and could finally find sleep. Tain didn’t allow him the best of respites, mewling at the door in the middle of the night, then decided to get back to the bed and sit on Glain’s shoulder so he could poke him in the face. Eventually, the cat had to give up and found a spot to lay, cozy, in between the young man’s legs, although he eventually ended the night sleeping on the Cardassian’s back.  _ Cats _ , Glain thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	36. IV - Uncles

#  Uncles

Enjam had arrived at the Kalab Metet restaurant late enough that he knew Denek would already be there, waiting. The Ministerial secretary was there indeed, square-faced, displeased by the military’s attitude but not surprised by it in the least. He informed Enjam that he’d ordered meals for them both already, and Enjam informed him in kind, that as current head of the Rokat family, it was his legal right to reverse the transaction performed by Glain when he paid Iltarel’s fee, which would likely put Iltarel’s account to a minus. As such, and for the sake of both families staying of each other’s good graces, he was there to seek for a different solution.

To his surprise, Denek didn’t flare. The little man could be a ball of anger, yes, but he could also see the danger when something he’d taken for granted and could difficultly afford, was about to be withdrawn. The negotiations that followed weren’t exactly what Enjam had envisioned, but good enough to easily gather that Denek had the firm intention to prevent Iltarel from ever seeing Dayar again, and to force Demeny to pay for Iltarel’s next surgery. The secretary nearly went onto bad-mouthing Demeny Edar for being as disorderly as infertile men could be, but had to cut that short, because he then remembered that his own son, Lukat, had become infertile – and he got even angrier, but also sad.

“Maybe Cardassia could use another Chief Editor than a disorderly Soukaran,” he muttered instead.

“You plan on finding someone to replace him?” concluded Enjam as he tried to hurry his eating a bit, pretending to himself that the faster he ate, the faster the conversation would go, “Any ideas how?”

“There’s always someone beneath you, ready to take your chair,” Denek shrugged, “...but give it to angry husbands to destroy the career of the man their wives cheated them on with,” he pointed. “That’s why one should always be faithful to their spouse,” he explained, almost as advice.

“Aren’t you worried you might get backlash if you... spread the word, so to speak? I mean, if you ruin a relationship, even for a valid reason...”

“I would think adulterers ruin their relationship  _ on their own _ , Your Rokat,” he replied, feeling a bit smug of lecturing  _ a Rokat _ . “It’s the law, and if they make themselves guilty, they are fodder.” He paused again however. “You are a lot more pacifist than I expected from a military,” he admitted with suspicion.

“Of course I am,” Enjam smiled and set his glass down with a soft movement, “I joined the military to preserve peace. I have no desire to further conflicts within State borders, between those of my kind. That is the very foundation of my duty as a soldier: to protect  _ you _ ,” he gesticulated to Denek, “all of you. If you wish to see my arsenal, you’d have to become a threat to the Union first. Is that really what you want, Your Jarad?”

“Of course not,” Denek chuckled. “And honestly, I’ve seen enough of my father’s own,” he shrugged. “At any rate, I’ll see that Iltarel’s surgery is paid for, no matter it is by Teval or Edar, and I’ll make sure Iltarel never gets to see the young Edar ever again. I believe it would be a good occasion for your nephew to offer support, so he and Iltarel can keep good friends, in the interest of our families,” he summed up.

“Ah, excellent!” agreed Enjam, happy to leave most of that behind him. Then, he raised his glass and made a toast ( _ To friendship! _ ) before continuing on his meal.

He’d gotten all the information he could’ve possibly asked for, and knew better than to try his luck on getting more – making Denek suspicious would just make him spew lies.

“Have you heard about the restoration of the Elkaris monument in Barvonok?” he took the conversation elsewhere, to dissolve them both in the discussion of the particularly scandalous affair that the monument had been – someone had stolen an arm off of it, which had then been found in the far south of Torr, but somehow it’d gotten lost in transport. So a new arm had been cast and attached. Three months later, the statue sported  _ three _ arms all of a sudden, with the third arm being attached in a particularly disorderly place.

_ Terrorists _ , thought Enjam.

##  * * *

A thing Teval was grateful for, was that he was good at hiding his feelings. Otherwise, he would probably have been quite embarrassed to be back to Demeny’s flat, in  _ Enjam Rokat’ _ s presence, moreover. He arrived first (although only shortly so) and made it clear to his host that he was going to act as if the  _ only reason _ the both of them knew each other was due to their nephews’ relationship (which wasn’t far from the truth anyway). Clearly, Enjam did not need to know of anything else.

That said, the Glinn arrived, and they sat around the dinner cozy table. Demeny seemed to have overdone himself a bit with the food, which was plentiful and delicate, but Teval could understand. Such activities as cooking were good to keep the mind away from worries, and pleasure had to be found in all things if one wanted to enjoy their life at all.

“It does look delicious,” Teval commented politely as he tried to figure what to start with. “So, Enjam,” he continued casually, “what intelligence have you gathered, I wonder?” he smiled ever so faintly as he picked a skewer of fish and eggs. “It  _ is _ delicious,” he quickly commented after a first bite.

Enjam served himself the same choice as Teval had made, waiting to take a bite until he’d seen the other do so too.

“Tea?” asked their host, who was still flickering around the table like a restless insect, “I’ve got water too, if that’s preferable-”

“-I’ll have whatever Jarad takes,” Enjam ensured and looked at the Editor, who seemed more uncomfortable even than himself.

“Yes, I see,” he nodded a bit and disappeared into the kitchen. For this moment, Enjam leaned forward: “I think it’d interest you that I somehow am now owed a favour from your family. Your brother really isn’t good at negotiation,” he straightened up and stapled his fingertips together. “He  _ implied _ something to do with His Edar and – ah – infidelity,” he oogled to the kitchen to make sure his voice wouldn’t carry there. “Spreading such indecent rumours about people simply because they are infertile is quite deplorable, and I’m sure that were they true, Edar wouldn’t still be here, anyway – but you,” he nodded to Teval, “he’s going to make  _ you _ pay for the surgery.”

The Gul groaned at that.

“You see, it’s not paying that’s a problem; it’s the  _ way _ he demands those things, as if I weren’t already the one who had to afford most everything for that child,” he vented a little. “Can you believe that when Pitir was born, Denek was so ashamed that he theorized  _ I _ must have had an affair with  _ his wife _ and fathered those two ‘faulty’ children?” He was still very salty about it. “Maybe I should let him break his neck and become head of the family in his stead. I, at least, know how to set a course,” he argued as Demeny returned. “Tell us, Enjam, you’re currently head of your family – how does that feel?”

“Eh,” Enjam grunted, “it’s only temporary while Nall recovers from his condition, so I wouldn’t say it counts. All decisions I make have to be made in consideration of the fact that I will be relieved of my position, and I suppose that at that time, he’ll undo most of my changes anyway,” he shrugged. “But you’re not seriously thinking of letting Denek ruin himself, are you? He might be daft, but he’s still your brother.”

“He’s an idiot who shunned our entire family profession,” Teval said unapologetically. “Our father was too soft, and the sad thing is that Denek was never supposed to be the elder,” he pinched his lips. “Father let him follow his whim to attend those law studies because Keleth was already attending Bamarren.” He marked a pause. “It’s unfortunate that our elder brother had to die there. A rare accident,” he suggested. “But in all honesty, the only reason I never disassociated from Denek is that I would have lost the children. But now that  _ his _ kids have grown up, I’m certain they’ll cope better without him. After all, the girls didn’t move at the other end of the Union without reason,” he winced and took another bite from his skewer. “But do you think he’s really going to squander about Demeny?” he spoke the name as if it was mere disambiguation between uncle and nephew.

“He might blackmail him,” Enjam suggested, and he took care not to look at the man in question. “He told me he wishes to forbid any further contact between Iltarel and Dayar, and I suppose a little blackmail would further his ability to enforce the ban.”

“That would be harmful to Dayar’s development,” Demeny stiffened a bit in his chair, “if this event is turned more traumatic than it already is, he might become exclusive to women again, and that’s a whole other level of heartbreak he could really do without. He used to be with women,” he added the last line as clarification. “I still remember when I had to tell him he couldn’t possibly enjoin the one he pursued – I’d rather not return him to that state of distress.”

Teval nodded in agreement.

“I’d rather spare Iltarel the heartbreak too,” he nodded. “At the first sign of blackmail, I’d advise you to ...ask a favor from your  _ contact _ ,” he suggested to Demeny. “While I have some such  _ contacts _ too, I strongly believe this kind of person would be more inclined to help you than me. Maybe Denek could use a warning even.”

Enjam looked between the two men, desiring with the full of his heart not to ever learn what sort of persons these  _ contacts _ might be.

“I would have thought you’d approve of the idea to keep them apart for a bit,” he suggested carefully. “If they cause each other to commit criminal acts, wouldn’t it make more sense to separate them, so that they can recover into orderliness more easily?” – Demeny looked at Enjam in a way that made him about certain that he was supposed to be offended – “They committed crimes against Cardassia,” Enjam cited more sternly, “to encourage further fraternizing wouldn’t be especially wise, not to mention-”

“-You’re just here because of  _ Glain,  _ aren’t you?” Demeny confronted in a harsh tone, “This has all been his doing, from the beginning to the end. I wouldn’t be surprised if  _ he  _ was the one who encouraged this all to happen, what with how disorderly he’s been in the past.”

Enjam got to his feet, leaning over the table like a shadow, glaring at the Editor in a way that should have made him crumble.

“ _ Glain did his best to help his luzzur, _ ” he told him with a voice that was shivering on the way to cracking, “and I will  _ not _ have his orderliness questioned. He has been cleansed through trial.”

“Only because he needed to,” hissed Demeny, infuriatingly venomous in the way he spat his poison.

“If you do not want my help, I will leave,” Enjam pointed to the hallway behind him, but Demeny just shrugged.

“You both calm down,” Teval said with firm authority. He wasn’t fond of acting the gul part, but they were leaving him no choice. “Sit,” he ordered Enjam. “Instead of being defensive, tell us in which way we can be certain that Glain is as innocent as you believe him to be. Through the years, I have come to place trust in this young man, and I desire nothing but to believe he hasn’t tricked us all. But now that my child lays mutilated in a hospital, I require proof,” he said without anger. He was open, but he wasn’t to be fooled with lies.

Enjam sat stiffly on his chair and sorted through his thoughts, distantly ogling them in the air in front of him.

“Glain should have never offered his help, and you should not have called upon it,” he pointed out to Teval and finally looked at him. “You call him in the middle of the night, on the evening his  _ half-alien _ aunt, a woman he considered his sister, got enjoined – and you expect him to have a mind clear enough to help you? He’s only barely returned to the Ministry of Justice, and you expect him to know which strings to pull? Things change over time, Jarad,” he couldn’t believe he had to explain it, “relations change; he had no way of knowing who were still loyal to him and who weren’t – especially not since he’d been up late. He was drunk,” he ended the sentence with a dark look to Teval. “I do not blame you as much as I do him, but I still do blame you, and that is the end of my thoughts. You can have them and do as you wish with them.”

Teval nodded.

“Thank you.” It hurt that Enjam was right, but it was better this way. “You’re right. This is my fault. I needed to be certain of it before answering for it,” he explained. “If I may share advice with you, now that you are to get enjoined… beware of the day she’ll be with child. It… does things to your sleep, and to your brain.”

He took his glass and swirled the water in it a little, staring at it contemplatively for a few seconds before drinking the entirety of it. He exhaled through clenched teeth and looked at Demeny, who tried to distract himself with the food, so that he could hear what was said rather than feel what he felt –  _ Teval _ might have been convinced already, but he wasn’t sure he bought the argument just yet. The Gul did feel sorry for bringing up that topic and getting in such a lousy mood.

“All I want is to ensure that things will go fine for our children ...and for ourselves too,” he returned his attention to Enjam. “You are a precious friend to me. In this regard… how are things going for Glain? I would assume he mustn’t be of the greatest of moods with what happened ...and I have to answer for this too.”

“Glain paid for Iltarel’s removal surgery,” Enjam told meaningfully, “and then he transferred the rest of his funds to Tilayan,” he lifted his glass halfway to his lips. “He’s living with me and Delna; I do think the controlled environment will do him well.”

Teval stopped for a moment, looking at Enjam to try and grasp the underlying meaning with certainty. Then decided that he didn’t want to base that on a feeling. He wanted words.

“Did he try to kill himself again because of what happened?” he asked seriously. He knew that people who had tried once were more prone to try again.

Enjam gave Teval a pointed glare.

“Thank you for respecting my family’s integrity, Jarad,” he delivered to him with a surly sip of his water – Demeny mumbled something and got up from his chair to retreat into the kitchen, mostly as a strategic choice.

“You’d rather I go and ask him directly?” Teval asked his friend. “We’re not here to squander, and if we are to strengthen alliance between our families, we need to help each other,” he pointed. “Let’s not go down like the Fifteenth Order,” he mentioned a well-known sad case of such military failure. “Protect yourself too much and you end up protecting nothing. Glain is dear to Iltarel, and dear to me too, as are you, Enjam. You may not be my family but you…” he realized his words had slipped toward the intimate, and that, were he to talk of friendship now, it could only and solely read as luzzurhood. “...You have always been a positive influence to me,” he fumbled awkwardly, lifted his empty glass and tried to drink from it.

Enjam looked at all the food and tightened his expression, huffing some air through his nose at last.

“Yes, but I can’t build an alliance with someone who is seething with prejudice against my nephew – and that you’d unveil such an  _ un-Cardassian trait _ only serves to put him further at risk,” he took another skewer and removed the pieces onto his plate, so he could eat them more easily. “I always thought of you as a man of intellect, Teval Jarad. You know very well that this was the trait in you that pulled me in. Now? Now I am faced with the certainty that either you have become very unwise, or that your relation to Demeny Edar is intimate enough that you think you can trust him,” he looked at his friend. “For how long have you known this Editor, Jarad?”

The Gul managed to keep a face that revealed nothing, but that in itself revealed he hadn’t expected the conclusion nor the question, and he was also taking too long to answer.

“Not everything is about the length of it, Enjam,” he figured he had to say something,  _ anything _ , “I’ve known my brother all my life and I know him well-enough to be certain he cannot be trusted with anything ever. It is  _ my _ entire duty as a high-ranking officer of strategic operations to be capable of judging especially whether a person can be trusted or not – and I agree that I  _ should _ have made personal contact with Glain to re-evaluate him in the light of all those new events surrounding him,” he conceded – “but I can assure you that my judgement of Demeny Edar is professional and unbiased. If that’s what worries you,” he assured. “But true, we are both uncles who got to raise the unwanted nephews, and that also gives us something to bond over, along with the happy prospect to hopefully see our families joined in the future.”

“And so, you’ve chosen to trust him, and you’ve made the choice for  _ my family _ as well as your own,” Enjam remarked with dislike. “I am certain you truly  _ are _ happy at the prospect that your two families might join, but you forget that this unification has  _ nothing _ to do with the Rokat family.  _ I _ have nothing to gain from this, while I would suppose that Demeny Edar has all the benefits on his side. It is true,” he added, “that Glain pursued Dayar. I for one would view this constellation as more logical: the Rokat family name has a higher standing amongst intellectuals than the Jarad name,  _ and _ Glain is an actual Conservator. But then,” he sighed with a headshake, “I suppose this enjoinment is to be conceived with emotion and sexual desire rather than logic.”

Teval found nothing to reply to that for a moment.

“You have a point,” he agreed. “Still, Iltarel and Glain are luzzurs. In my eyes, they are already family, and that is why I worry about Glain. He’s a good man, he’s very intelligent, but if I shall be honest, I think it might have been a bit early for him to enjoin when he’s only just now starting his career as Conservator. He waited for years to get rid of Reyal first… Is it true that he was pursuing Dayar solely because his father required of him to take a wife? Or is there additional emotion and sexual desire to this logical equation?”

Enjam straightened up to a more stiff position.

“I couldn’t possibly know all his motivations, but it is true that Nall’s pressure hasn’t been good for him,” he squinted toward the kitchen. “That is why I’ve cancelled the instructions. He’s no longer to search for someone to enjoin, and he’s also explicitly forbidden to seek ah... sexual intimacy,” he cleared his throat a bit at that, “because I don’t think it’s good for him,” he added in a lower voice. “He needs to find himself, not a bed.”

“Ah,” Teval nodded. “Well, so long as that doesn’t include intimacy with himself…” he suggested – Enjam already knew of the harsh restrictions Denek had put on his brother when he’d forced him to come live in his house during the two first years of Iltarel’s life – “I think it’s a good measure,” he admitted. “This should allow him to set his priorities more clearly. Is there something I could do to help in this endeavour, do you think? I wish for nothing but to see our three nephews safe, healthy, whole, balanced and happy.”

“Take care of Iltarel,” Enjam answered in honesty and finally relaxed back into something less formal, “he means the world to Glain. He loves him,” he added with pressure, because he knew there was no way that secret would be useful for anyone in the room, “and he’s terrified of losing him. The only way you can help is by making sure that won’t happen.”

“I’ll take care of Iltarel of course; that’s a given,” Teval said and dipped his skewer in the white spicy sauce on his plate, “but I’d like to apologize to Glain if you think that would be constructive and good for him. I really do not want him to do something stupid just because he’s been getting the lower end of the stick for several years now.”

“That would be a good idea,” Enjam agreed.

“Does anyone want dessert?” Demeny asked from the kitchen door, even though most of the main course hadn’t even been eaten yet, “I made some while – anyway...” he lowered his hands a bit, “I don’t know if I can be of any help. But rest assured that Denek is no threat to me: I didn’t get to be Chief Editor without a skill for survival.”

“Then come and eat something too,” Teval looked at Demeny as an invitation to approach and come back to his seat. “It’s always suspicious when the host doesn’t eat the food he made himself,” he chuckled to lighten the mood and sighed, refilling his glass and taking another skewer.

Demeny joined the other two at the table, a polite smile stretched across his face while he avoided to look at them.

“Glain needs to feel forgiven, so that he may forgive himself,” Enjam went on. “There  _ is _ survival to be found in such words.”

“In that case, it is better if I don’t speak to him,” Demeny implied somewhat sharply. “Both myself and Dayar have good connections at the Ministry of Justice,” he looked meaningfully at Teval, then at Enjam again. “I do, of course, hope I will like how things progress, so I won’t have to use them excessively...”

“Maybe if you’d  _ told me _ that in a timely fashion…” Teval glared back at Demeny, then softened. “But what is done is done, and there is nothing productive in grudging about the mistakes that were done instead of… repairing what can be,” he tried to be appeasing. Somehow, he had a hard time holding much of a grudge against Demeny either, and he had to look away, worried Enjam might see that gentleness.

“You should have asked me before you chose to act,” Demeny took a fish roll, “but I agree, it was...” he looked at Enjam, “I do hope you won’t expect of Dayar to forgive so easily.”

“If he loves Iltarel, then he’ll follow his example. I suggest you’d encourage this, that is, if you wish for them to continue their... courting,” he grimaced at the taste those words left behind in his mouth. Demeny’s eyes turned sceptical.

“You speak like it’s a game of strategy,” he pointed with a finger to him.

“Isn’t it?” asked Enjam in return, a bit of childish smugness making it into his expression.

“No.” Demeny deflected him with such a mundane calm that it caught him off guard.

“No?”

“I won’t try to explain what you’re unfit to understand, Your Glinn Rokat,” Demeny continued with the same cold demeanour, which was starting to grate on Enjam’s nerves.

“I’ll have you know that my sense of strategy is going to get me enjoined, and more. But please, enlighten me – what else should I do?” he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Demeny huffed through his nose.

“And I suppose you view it as a victory once you’ve ensnared that poor girl and married her out of a life in which she could have had a husband who is present more than thrice a year?” he nagged with more aggression than he’d meant, his obvious jealousy dripping through the seams of the patchwork argument.

“I did not come here to be insulted,” seethed Enjam, “and for your information, Delna and myself love each other very much. Because we put effort into our common cause – if you won’t call that strategy, then I don’t know what it is.”

“A bad romance novel for men,” Demeny enlightened him. “What do you think, Jarad?” he threw the hot topic at the third wheel. “Does an arranged enjoinment at all contain the kind of passion which lives between our nephews?”

Teval did hate to be squeezed like that and quickly finished his skewer so he could answer.

“I honestly think it does, and I think it would be very rude of anyone to say otherwise,” he caught a fish roll to get to taste one before they’d all disappear. “My parents, for instance, joined their families to ensure peace between them for the third generation, and they were chosen with the prospect that their offspring would be fruitful and gifted with the best of both worlds,” he pointed. “That was  _ arrogant _ , and when I look at my brother, I am certain he must have gotten all the wrong genes. But when it comes to love, I can assure you that my parents were very passionate and romantic with one another. I lived with them for much longer than my siblings did, and sometimes they forgot ...or didn’t expect me to be there… and all I can say is that they were  _ very passionate _ ,” he suggested and chuckled a little to himself and at those memories, looking down his plate. “At any rate, I think it’s about what one wants of love. I have courted my present wife in the most discreet manner for years – I ignored she was infertile, and she ignored the same about me, so we simply assumed we could never be joined… and flirts can be dangerous if they don’t lead to union,” he explained cautiously, “Or so it is in the military at least – our relationship with night persons aren’t as good,” he glanced meaningfully at Demeny. “And as a strategy operative, I assure you, Your Edar: it takes passion to conquer, but it takes even more passion to maintain and protect what you cherish. Love,” he took a bite from his fishroll, “is a matter of dedication, so you  _ should _ be strategic about it. Passion alone won’t take you far. Gul Talem Meret  _ knew _ something about all that,” he smiled smugly at the mention of Gul Meret’s grandfather. “His biography is an entire tale right about this topic.”

Enjam went a deep dark color, whether form outrage or discomfort wasn’t certain, because Demeny interjected him.

“You militaries and your military terminology,” he complained and waved a freshly grabbed stick-of-shrimp at his guest, “Conquer, maintain, protect... such square, rough and metallic words. I prefer something less rigid and more... artistic. Kindling, nurturing-”

“-And that seems to work very well for you,” sneered Enjam, who was still upset that his love for Delna had been questioned – Demeny didn’t react much physically.

“Such keen observational skills,” he flattered him with sarcasm as he nibbled a shrimp.

“Do not forget that  _ you _ are the one who needed observations from me to protect you from Denek’s plans,” the rather frustrated Glinn reminded him.

“Yes, thank you, I would have never realized he might want revenge on me if you hadn’t so generously told me,” cooed Demeny, which was enough for Enjam, who got to his feet again and looked at Jarad in outrage, as if this was somehow his fault.

“And do you share his sense of ingratitude?”

Teval pinched his lips together in a cold frown and braced himself.

“Seriously?” he looked at them both. “You are taking things much too personally,” he told Enjam, “but  _ you _ ,” he turned to Demeny, “are going much too far. It’s not his fault,” he gestured at Enjam, “if this whole situation happened! Out of us all, he’s the least guilty, and the one who has the less to gain from helping us. He is a good man, loving, loyal, and a good soldier who always answers to his duty to his family,” he said and tried to ignore his own emotions. “Now if you really care about your feelings more than you care to put an end to the disasters that occurred and could occur again…” he was about to say something, but refrained, because he somehow knew it would have been very hurtful. “But I suppose you’re very much a civilian and Enjam very much a military, and maybe I am more of an in-between, and better fit to talk with both of you while… you may not be most fit to communicate together,” he nodded and turned to Enjam. “Would you rather I continue on your behalf, keeping in mind the interest of your family?” he asked him.

Enjam sat down again, slowly however, and refused to look at Demeny in a way that was bluntly obvious.

“I need word from the both of you that you are not going to attempt any sort of revenge against my nephew,” he stated factually. “Glain was called upon to help, and he heeded that call. His was an un-Cardassian execution of a most Cardassian need, and I ask of both of you to once and for all reassure me that Glain is no target.” He finally looked at Demeny.

The Editor looked down at his plate, withering into something less certain than before, obscenely frail in his vulnerability.

“I can’t promise that Kantar won’t take steps,” he told honestly, “and I can’t promise that Dayar won’t keep a grudge against him – Dayar’s dignity hinges very much on the grudges he keep, and they are many. It would help, to me, if you tried to keep Glain from contacting him, because I can’t ensure that it’d end any other way than poorly.”

Enjam grunted.

“Then I will need to talk to him personally,” he didn’t specify whether he meant Kantar or Dayar.

“As for myself, you know I would never seek to do harm to your family,” Teval said softly. “As I  _ said _ , I care a lot for your nephew.”

“Then I will continue with caution. I expect to hear from Denek again,” Enjam looked tiredly at Teval. “What do I tell him?” he asked carefully, “He owes me a favour, but I don’t know what I’d like to ask – and I don’t think Glain needs tutoring in economics – unless I wanted to punish him with boredom –” Demeny couldn’t help but to snort away a laughter at that, and Enjam looked at him only briefly before turning his attention back to his friend.

“I need more time to think about it… if he asks, just say you’re saving it for later,” Teval shrugged.

Enjam sighed and leaned an elbow on the table, so he could rest his head on his hand.

“As long as it happens before Nall reclaims the position as head of family – I hope it won’t be soon,” he shook his head at that: “He’d undo everything I’ve decided, and I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t be good for Glain.”

“I could help,” Demeny pointed rather slyly, “all that’s needed for his continued retirement, is that his case keeps being labelled as  _ in rehabilitation _ , and all I’d need to do would be to prolong it. Of course, you’d then have to owe me a favour.”

Enjam looked at Demeny and pursed his lips.

“I think I’ll solve it myself,” he denied as he got to his feet. “I’d like to think I’m capable. Thank you for dinner, it was... interesting,” he remarked as he started to leave, and Demeny let him do.

Teval looked at him, only giving him a silent goodbye with a peaceful gaze, the sort that meant he was in charge and would hold his promise. The two men didn’t need to speak to communicate such things to one another – a gift from Bamarren.

Only once Enjam had left did the Gul relax a bit. Still, he looked at Demeny and shook his head.

“Why did you have to be so harsh with one another?” he chided him a little, “Do you not desire peace, Demeny?”

“My nephew is in a mental institution,” Demeny rather roughly answered, “and when he comes out, the first thing he’ll have to deal with is the guilt of what he’s done to Iltarel, the person he loves. Something that could have been avoided if that Glain boy hadn’t been as self-important as to assume he could help,” he picked another stick. “And once that settles, he’ll have to deal with the doubt that comes with the realization that he’s the second best choice. It is one thing that Iltarel loves Glain, but it becomes something different if feelings are mutual. Perhaps not to them, but to Dayar, certainly it will matter.”

Teval contemplated this a moment.

“Still, none of it is Enjam’s fault,” he pointed, “and truly, it isn’t Glain’s fault either. It’s mine, Demeny. It’s my fault for having asked for his help. I lacked judgement,” he said, and he wasn’t proud. “What I don’t get is… if you have so little faith in  _ that Glain boy _ , then why did you let me require his help?” he crossed his arms.

“It was too late for me to do anything about it once I found out,” Demeny simply answered, “I  _ did _ tell you my concerns about it then. You took them, and you discarded them – I have no authority over you,” he pushed his cup away and looked at the heaps of food that remained. “And I was scared that if I tried to get to  _ my _ contacts, that the entire thing would be compromised. The less that knew the better. You moved first,” he took his napkin and dried himself without really needing to, “and I chose to trust you. Because I’ve grown to trust Iltarel.”

Teval felt something warm at those words and took the time to finish his plate to ponder over it.

“I don’t trust you entirely as a person – not on a logical level,” he said gently. “But I trust you on a more instinctive level,” he reckoned. “I’m sorry I had to disappoint all of us. I believe I should speak to Dayar too. I owe it to Glain and Enjam. To Iltarel too, in a way. It’s my fault, and I am the one who shall take responsibility for it. I’ll pay for the surgery,” he resolved. “I’ll have to discuss with Glain and provide for him too, I suppose. It would be the honest thing to do…” he mused.

“Glain  _ had _ the option to decline,” pointed Demeny, but he got up at the same time and went to the kitchen.

There, he remained for a good while, tinkering with glasses. When he revealed himself, it was with one bowl in each hand, containing a lush, metallic blue soup.

“Pemoran berries are in season back on Soukara, I bought some to cheer myself up,” he sat one bowl in front of Teval, and the other at his side, then disappeared into the kitchen again, withdrawing with a third bowl, this one filled to the brim with some sort of whipped cream: “Something soft and mild to complement the sour-sweet sting of the berries,” he explained as he delivered a spoonful into his guest’s bowl, then did the same for himself and sat down. “I hope you’ll enjoy it – at the very least it’s a beautiful visual experience. See how the blue turns purple when it mingles with the cream? The chemistry of food is amazing in itself, or so I think.”

Teval agreed, and kept silent for a moment, gazing before he started to eat. This shifting of color, it made him think of Iltarel. How the child had shifted between girl and boy for his ten first years, prior to notation… It made him think of Dayar too, who was going to forcefully shift too. He could feel Demeny’s stress and sorrow and gave him a fond look, as to reassure him.

“I hope my brother will leave you in peace,” he said gently. “I’ll try to calm him down. He’s not a very reasonable person but… I’ll try to talk through his wife. He usually listens to her much better.”

Demeny smiled in appreciation. Rokat’s leaving had put him in a more vulnerable mood, where he allowed his shoulders to slump, and it became all the more difficult to ignore the hole that threatened to swallow him from within.

“You are a good man, Teval Jarad,” he mumbled as he stirred his soup to create galaxies of cream in the outskirts of the bowl, “such a good man,” his smile fell off of his lips and he leaned back in his chair, letting go of his spoon. “You think I was too hard on your friend,” he noted with a look to the Gul, “he’s the one you told me of last time, isn’t he? You’re very protective of him.”

Teval smiled for an answer, restful softness in his eyes – he was clearly confident that Demeny wouldn’t betray him by making Enjam aware of his affection.

“At age thirteen, he earned me two broken legs… how could I be anything but admirative and protective of him?” he laid forth the riddle. Bamarren was a very special place… “We come from a different world. The Mekar wilderness shapes you in ways nothing else can.”

“I know,” Demeny spun between spoonfuls of soup, “I’ve read more than one draft written by former students. A great deal of them erotic,” he added with an extra smirk, which he dissolved with a sip of water. “I don’t envy you your special bond,” he thought of Dayar and Kairr, even though that was so long ago now, “but I must admit that I’m always weary when confronted by... luzzurs,” he phrased himself awkwardly. “They are worse than shamars. At least shamars get to the point where they acknowledge each other as individuals. Luzzurs are more joined in the head, and... sometimes I feel like they have issues telling each other apart. It makes them dangerous to be around, because a confrontation with one of them will gain you lashback from the other,  _ even _ when the other might technically agree with you – Your Gul Jarad, are you not worried your emotions might impair your judgement regarding His Glinn Rokat?”

“I don’t believe in clarity, Edar. We all have to make choices all the time, and sentiment gets in the way so easily… But… and forgive me it it sounds immodest of me, I try to do my best to make the choices Cardassia would approve of,” he assured, delving back in his dessert.

“We are both very careful,” Demeny reckoned and shuffled his dessert away. “I have to wonder how it comes that our nephews, our children, decided to make such an un-Cardassian choice – I haven’t been able to sleep; all I can think of is Dayar, and how he isn’t here, and how I’m scared of what he’ll be like when I get him back. Because he will have changed, and there’s nothing I can do,” he looked at Teval with wild desperation. “I want him back.”

“I know,” the military indulged in some more dessert, because food wasn’t to be wasted. “But you have to prepare for that day, which means you have to take care of yourself, Demeny. But maybe you need help…” he looked at him as he discarded his empty bowl. “Maybe I can help you with that tonight.”

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood for sex,” Demeny admitted with an apologetic smile, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t want to, I just seem to be in the wrong energy, I guess.”

“Comfort doesn’t have to be sex,” Teval gently replied. “It can be anything you want, anything you need. What’s the energy like?” he asked with genuine interest.

“Cramped like a trap,” Demeny mumbled with a look to the remnants in his bowl, “It’s a claustrophobic feeling, to be stuck in this position from which I can do nothing active to help my nephew…”

“Maybe you’d enjoy a massage? I could do your back,” the military proposed. “I’ll have you know, Your Edar, that I am very good at it. Lay and you’ll never want to get up ever again for as long as my hands are on your scales,” he tried to sell his offer a little.

“A massage would be nice,” the Editor mused at the proposition, “or a hug, whichever is the warmest – you know, I feel powerless like a child, but now I’m the adult, and my parents aren’t there to save me anymore. It makes me a little scared.”

“Ah, yes…” Teval answered knowingly, “then let’s try a massage – I’m more confident in this than in my ability to deliver a good hug,” he admitted.

He got up and Demeny sent him to get cozy in the bedroom first, so he might undress the table meanwhile and pack the leftovers. Then looked at his guest again as he was heeding off.

“Your Jarad,” he murmured, “I’m sorry for all that’s transpired...” he’d nearly said something else, something considerably more flattering and, really, rather cheesy and romantic. Whether he would’ve meant it or if it was just a reflex, he wasn’t certain.

Teval on his behalf wasn’t sure either what Demeny exactly meant by that but acknowledged and, with a second of hesitation, wrapped his free arm around the other man and chastely kissed his jaw, which was more at reach than his chufa. Just as quickly, he removed himself and slipped out of Demeny’s grip with natural ease, then disappeared in the bedroom.

Once alone in there, he thought of what to do next, and opted to explore. He fiddled with the light settings to have a nice, cozy, dim atmosphere, and found in the nightstand some lube that could be used for massage. Then he took off his shirt, shoes and socks, and contemplated whether to keep his pants or not. He ended up opting out of them – it would be more comfortable for the both of them this way.

 

It took Demeny about twenty minutes to clean his empty dishes and stash the rest in the fridge. It wasn’t the most  _ orderly _ cleaning he’d ever done, but it had to be good enough, as he didn’t want to keep the other waiting too long.

What he hadn’t expected to see in his room, was a very undressed Teval atop his bed, warming lube in his hands: for a moment, all he could do was to stand there and take in the scene, along with the realization that  _ Teval had looked in his nightstand _ . Like most people, Demeny had things in there for his eyes only, but unlike most people, some of those things were borderline illegal, something which Jarad very surely knew.

“You’re... comfortable, I see,” he noted as he braced himself and stepped into his own bedroom.

Feeling too tired to make a good display of himself, he got out of his clothes in a rather ordinary manner, folding them and setting them aside as custom would dictate. Then, he went to sit on the bed and looked down at Teval.

“You’ve been nosing in my things, haven’t you?”

“Which things?” Teval raised an eyeridge, “I haven’t seen much anything but what I was looking for,” he told with such certitude that Demeny could certainly have wondered if his things had somehow vanished from the nightstand while he wasn’t looking. The Gul eyed at the man, a thin darkness lining his neckscales, “Lay down,” he ordered and chased away his desire. “I think it’s quite warm now,” he gestured with his his hands and got onto his knees, ready to start. He planned on staying kneeled by the other’s side rather than ride his back. At first, at least.

Still somewhat quizzical, Demeny resigned to follow the instructions, laying his head so he could still somewhat see him.

“I take it that such things have no appeal to you, then,” he assumed while looking for responses in the other – negative or positive.

“That is a question for a later time-” Teval didn’t flinch, but softened his tone as he laid his warm hands on the editor’s back, “ _ -Demeny _ ,” he spoke the name like a caress and set to work.

He explored the scales, the muscles underneath, seeking for tensions and finding many. Some had been there for a very long time, and Teval shifted focus, connecting to the magnetism of his lover, of the room itself, binding the both of them for a moment to distress the soreness. Those were moves he’d learned at Bamarren. Stratagems much needed after each session in the Pit. Back then, he’d done it with the dedication of loyalty, and sometimes with mild curiosity for the bodies of his comrades, but in this moment, Teval was passing down a much more different energy. It wasn’t one of loyalty, it was more alike to one of trust. Soft, delicate, strong and fragile at the same time. It felt like warm water thawing the ice, and Teval closed his eyes to better enjoy this moment, this relief. It was more than friendly without being sexual, and it was good this way.

It was still this same mood when he finally moved to sit down the other’s back, to better massage the entirety of his back. And then he went further down again, to tend to his legs, then to his feet. He’d let him turn over to lay on his back, and had to take more lube again, and he smiled peacefully as he looked at Demeny while working.

“You’re handsome,” an enveloping deep voice spoke. Then Teval realized he’d been the one to speak those words.

Feeling much warmer and safer, Demeny abandoned himself enough to smile at Teval through the haze of his mind.

“And so are you,” he croaked and reached a hand to the other’s cheek, caressing the scales up to his ear, then let his arm drop to the bed, since he was so relaxed that every part of him felt heavy. “Where did you learn to be this mesmerizing?”

“At Bamarren, where else?” Teval leaned over him, looking into the warm darkness of his eyes. “I suppose it would have to be either that or the Order,” he allowed himself a smug little grin, not unlike those Iltarel could muster, subtle and obvious at the same time. Then. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against Demeny’s, soft but confident. It was the first time he laid his lips onto those of another man, and he found he quite liked it.

Demeny’s chest tingled with electricity as he closed his eyes to better enjoy the sensation, parting his lips to taste those of his lover. He buried his right hand in his hair, rubbing neckscales on its way there – Teval’s body was a landscape of comfort and safety, and he felt protected while he sought its secrets.

As such, it all turned into a whole-body kiss. It wasn’t just lips and tongues entwining slowly. Hands, arms, legs were joining along, drawing it in time and space. It was tender and sweet, and as Teval realized how devoid of sexual energy the moment was, an icy blade formed in the back of his mind. If he was feeling this warm while kissing, and if it wasn’t sexual, then what was it? Loving? That was a ridiculous notion.

When their lips parted, he laid by Demeny’s side, still entwined, an arm and a leg hugging him while his face buried itself in the man neck. It smelled good there.

“Hug me,” he murmured drowsily. He paused, then went on, “I hope you feel better yet…”

It was really strange how connected he felt. He’d been connected to others before, he was connected to his wife, but he hadn’t expected to experience something so strong towards a man he’d barely just met. Was he shallow? Or was it instinct? It was unlawfully dangerous how compatible the two of them felt.

The Editor wrapped protective arms around the soldier, nuzzling his hair with a content sigh, eyes closed and something like a purr tickling his throat.

“Thank you,” he murmured and nuzzled the hair some more, then the Gul’s chufa, “you make me feel safe, it’s... good to feel safe.”

“I exist so you can feel that way,” the military replied quite naturally, although the words bore something that would have been indecent in a formal context. Teval chose not to dwell on that and instead kissed the man again.

A part of him wanted this to turn into sex, so to sink into the illusion that sex was all he was after in the end, but the rest of him was content with the moment.

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you, Demeny. I won’t let that happen,” he promised. “I like you and I want things to be right and well as much as you do,” he spoke soothingly.

“And I will do the same for you, Your Jarad,” Demeny returned just as much fondness, nearing the other’s lips to kiss them again – softly, fond with appreciation for subtlety. He wasn’t fishing for more than comforting intimacy, although a mild arousal had started to heat his body – the kind which was calm and soothing rather than wild and ravaging. It was a rare one, at least as of late, and he indulged in the innocence of it.

It was followed by more kisses and gentle caresses, sometimes almost ticklish. Teval wasn’t sure why it felt so good to kiss Demeny – his lips, his cheeks, his neck, his chest pendant, his lips again and his nose – but the soldier shared the editor’s state of being. They were aligned perfectly in their desire, and even in the event that their mild erections were pressed closer, he could feel that the two of them were devoid of the slickness of sexual needs. And it was good and fine.

Eventually, they draped themselves in nudity, needing no other cloth than this cloak of tenderness, and the bed’s soft blanket on top of them. Teval moved over his lover, framing his head with his arms and smiling at him.

“You make me fond,” he admitted with amusement. “I feel like a child, but in a good way. I don’t feel helpless, I feel like… like everything is possible.”

Demeny couldn’t hold back a chuckle, eyelids half-closed to an admirant squint.

“Even sleep?” he suggested drowsily, “Or perhaps we’re already asleep, and this is just a joyful dream. If that is the case, I hope I won’t wake soon.”

“A sentiment I share,” Teval echoed with the same cheesy humor. He indulged some more in the warmth at their groins before laying next to the man and huddling close, letting the both of them relax into slumber, warm and cozy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	37. IV - Contacts

#  Contacts

It was a sweet feeling, to wake up holding someone, and Gul Jarad indulged in the contact even though the computer chimed to announce the early morning hour. Day must be barely starting to hatch outside.

“I’m not working today…” the man mumbled in the back of Demeny’s neck, “I took the day off to get Iltarel back from the hospital. I think you should have a day off too,” he shuffled a bit and dragged the Editor closer, strong muscles at work.

Demeny mumbled something vague to shut the computer off and allowed himself to steal off of the other’s heat, not yet opening his eyes.

“If that is what my Gul commands...” he turned around a bit sluggishly and  inhaled the scent of them. “Do you want me to get up and organize some of the leftovers into breakfast?”

“I guess that would be a possibility if you’d rather I don’t have  _ you _ for breakfast,” the military aimed a kiss under Demeny’s jaw, just under where the ridges joined the neckscales.

The man let out a purring sound and grinned a bit, flexing to better expose his neck.

“I’m not entirely opposed to that one idea, I admit...” he agreed hazily as he indulged in the pleasant tenderness. He really could imagine it as something of a loving act, one that went further than just lust.

“Good…” Teval echoed in between more kisses, a tenderness he usually reserved to his wife.

Squirming a bit against the other man’s body, he laid him on his back in a snake-like embrace, hot with something warmer than lust. His naked body held a freedom lingering in content contacts, like a gentle hum over restful embers. It seemed like the same innocence was drawing out their malehoods, just like the night before, and Teval gazed down at his lover before kissing his lips too, darting his tongue to play a dancing tale of “something more.” It left him slightly breathless, maybe a bit dizzied too as a more timid heat came to his cheeks and neck. To his eyes too, as a vulnerability he was having a hard time concealing. Strange. He was usually so good at that...

“I want you…” he whispered, but the words didn’t exactly bear the same hunger as they usually did when he pronounced them, and he shook his head a bit. He wanted to say something more, but what? “You make me curious, Demeny… You make me… want to follow you in the darkness…” he murmured and gulped, not entirely realizing yet what sort of confession this was.

Demeny grinned at that and claimed Teval’s lips in another kiss. At the same time, he maneuvered them both so that when the kiss was over, he was on top and the Gul was beneath him. The same way he’d been kissed and tasted, he kissed and tasted his lover – his cheek, his neck, the scales across his collarbones.

He moved his hips slowly, not even consciously kindling the fire between them and within himself.

“You have me entranced already,  _ luzzur _ ...” he stole the man’s lips so to avoid getting any answer yet. Finding his hair with his fingers and grabbing onto it, he pinned the other’s head to the mattress beneath.

“You smell good,” he wheezed as their lips parted and he rested his forehead against him, “you  _ are _ good, and mine,” he added with more mischief, “You are  _ mine _ .”

The position was quite unusual for the soldier, or rather, it wasn’t anything he’d let anyone do to him so far ...anyone except his wife. Serila was his personal authority after all. Those words Demeny spoke were like poison and Teval tried to protest with a groan, but didn’t actually found proper words beyond that sound. Or at least, not the words he’d expected himself to say.

“Make me belong,” he possessively seized the other’s hips and let his hands trace down the shape of the thighs. “Make me…  _ luzzur _ ,” he breathed hotly and writhed for sinful contact. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, indulging like that, but apparently, he wasn’t capable of caring of anything else but this moment and this connection, fishing for the other’s lips again. He’d always wanted a luzzur.

“With pleasure,” Demeny agreed between kisses, letting go of the other’s hair with his left hand, to stroke his neck, playfully stimulating the scales there, and then further down over his chest.

Somewhere around there, he felt like a pond of water, and it was as though Teval was within him, a web of bubbles of air, each of them soaring into his skull, filling him with a sense of togetherness that went deeper and closer than that of the flesh – he’d only felt it before with one other lover, one who wasn’t to be connected with this moment.

“There’s nothing in my mind but you,” he muttered against those wet lips as he fled from them to suckle on the chin instead, then the throat, licking skin and scales and finding the sweet scent just behind the ear, “you belong to me.”

“Luzzur mine…” Teval whined in return, eyes flickering a bit. “You make me feel things on… such a new level,” he admitted, clinging to the other with his legs around his thin waist. It was strange how he both wanted to go further, almost like an eager child wanting nothing but to hurry forward discovery, but also wanted to just take the time and enjoy each and every second of this moment. Make it last.

“It’s so strange… Usually I don’t surrender so easily, but with you, I don’t mind… You’re good at that game, aren’t you…?” he smirked a little, thinking of the somewhat illegal things he’d seen in the nightstand.

Demeny chuckled back at that and straightened up enough to serve Teval’s nose tip with a kiss.

“You didn’t surrender easily, my dear,” he slipped with delight, closing the distance, tasting his lips, wetting them with his tongue, “but yes, I am good at this game – how far do you want to take it?” he asked with a twitch to his eyeridge, “How much did you see of what I’ve got to offer?”

“Hm,” Teval grinned, “I’ve seen that gun – I could get you one with a more real feeling if you’d like…” he suggested a bit cheekily – “I’ve seen things I thought were for lonely moments, and… I thought we militaries were perverted, but I was wrong… you, civilians are a lot more refined in those games,” he shared his amusement and curiosity. “The shackles, of course, I understand. But the…” How to even say it? “You know… what do you even do with those things?”

“It isn’t just sex,” drawled Demeny, leaving behind a particularly slick string of saliva on Teval’s lips, “I indulge people in fantasies. It goes beyond sex: it’s the psychological game – power exchange. I’ve been tied up, held down, raised to the skies, torn down into darkest depths you’d most closely describe as a torture chamber worthy of the Obsidian Order,” he grinned, “perhaps it even was. I didn’t ask,” he kissed Teval’s lips again, and then sat up to look down at him. “Sensory play. You blind them and cover their ears, and then you deliver touches – soft for the most time, but there’s also electric tools in there, if you’re so inclined. The collar is especially insidious, though it was made for me specifically,” he added with a voice that betrayed a certain reservation for letting someone borrow it.

“Vicious, aren’t you…” the military observed with intrigued fascination and appeal. His heartbeat was shifting into something more distinct as his focus intensified. “When I was a child, my father sometimes locked me up in a small, dark closet, and then released me so I’d learn not to be afraid. He’d sometimes plunge me in the bathtub and maintain me there until I could no longer breathe and started to choke on water so I’d learn to trust him to pull me back in time,” he narrated with a distant smile. “And when I went to Bamarren, I was fully decided to endure absolutely everything so my father would be proud of me. And I did. And he was. And I must admit that at times, I miss those days, because there was something special about this pain we inflicted to each other. Have too much of it and the Order will take you, my father warned me…” he ran his hands up to Demeny’s hips and held his waist with greed. “You’d like to do things to me, luzzur?” he asked genuinely.

Demeny’s lower lip twitched a little.

“You want to play?” he asked in a tone that was almost mocking –  _ he _ was already playing. “If you’d let me do things to you, I will. I’d claim you for my own,” he closed his jaws rather sharply as an interruption. It felt just a little bit wrong to be this possessive, mostly because he knew it’d backfire and leave him not only hurt, but feeling even more lonely than he had before. “Do you want that?” he asked more gently instead, “To be mine?”

Teval contemplated the offer, with what it entailed, but somehow he knew he’d already taken the decision. If not in his brain, his guts already had.

“I do, as luzzur,” he answered wishfully, resting his calm gaze on the man he was pledging to. “But you’ll have to be mine too then,” he felt his heart beating stronger in anticipation. “Take me and I’ll take you back, stab me and we become one,” he riddled.

Demeny swallowed twice, contemplating this answer with a slight surprise. Then, he jolted off of his luzzur and opened his cupboard – the things in there offered themselves to him like a bowl of multi-flavoured treats. He made a smacking sound with his lips.

“Difficult to choose,” he remarked as he sat on his heels and drew out a neck corset of black leather, the kind that went up and covered one’s mouth. Thoughtfully, he rubbed his thumb over the leather and looked over his shoulder: “How do you want me to look when I take you? Do you want kisses? Or do you want me to simply watch you?”

“It’s your ridges and your edges I’m after,” Teval purred, rolling over his belly and resting on his elbows to better observe the other. “A roughness and a caress ...are alike,” he smirked and followed up the quote of words often echoed in Bamarren – poems composed by students and passed through the years:

“Julity lok’i netane va kamin’uo va tamin’uo mai’zai sakú.   
_ Your ridges and your edges sit in the blade’s mirror. _

“Son ramalket son tahkalet súnú imir irnip udan mahú.   
_ A roughness and a caress are alike when we hold our place. _

“Si’ir mahú zař, si’zař sahú ir; si’ir lokú zař va irn ilõu. _  
_ _ Take me and I’ll take you back, stab me and we become one. _

“Ek’zai lunekana son şena úrasú ir; julity lok mai’zai va si’ir urúvi.”   
_ I am the canvas for you to paint on, I’ll become your blade’s mirror. _

At that, Teval crooked a smile and straightened up his neck, “Paint your colors onto me, luzzur mine, so I can see you and know you better.”

Demeny, who had spent the moment tying the corset down his neck, and pulling on elbow-long leather gloves in a similarly black color, turned to Teval with the sweetest expression of amusement. When he spoke, his voice came out slightly muffled by the corset, but still audible enough.

“That’s the most homoerotic and disorderly song I’ve heard in years. And not one I’d expect  _ you _ to sing,” he chuckled into the warmth against his lips and then reached onto the shelf to get the lube, spreading some over his left hand – the gloves didn’t mind the special treatment much, “But I’ll stab you good, if it is what you  _ command _ , little Gul.”

Teval gulped, feeling himself get quite incandescent, both from the sight of Demeny wearing ...animal hide, and from what he just suggested. He’d wanted to protest that the song  _ wasn’t _ homoerotic in the least, but. It was. As he now realized, it really was. How had he never realized?

“I think you’ll need a phaser, or I might resist…” he answered and licked a pointy teeth in anticipation.

“Feral, aren’t we?” Demeny arched his right eyeridge and grinned, although that couldn’t be seen more than through a glimmer in his eye. He obliged, swiftly pulling his fake phaser from the nightstand and directing it at Teval while at the same time tilting his head backwards, “You know it’ll only get worse if you resist... and you know you want me to please you. I want to please you, too.”

The soldier gulped and a shiver ran through his every scales, from the neck and down his back.

“You wouldn’t…” he played along, giving a gaze of slight uncertainty while searching for an opening – oh, there were plenty, but this was just a game of pretense, and he found he was quite enjoying it.

Still aiming at him, Demeny got onto the bed by the foot end, standing on his knees, legs wide apart, looking down at his  _ prey _ .

“Oh, I want you, Teval Jarad, I want you and your pleasure and your whimpers of abandon – I want your shivers, your groans and your breath on my skin, my name in your mouth,” he rubbed the lube between his fingers with the other hand and then decided to treat himself some with the surprisingly cold oil.

The words were like a promise, the indulgence, a cold tease. A bit of surprise and panic washed on Teval’s face, almost outraged at his lack of purpose in this instant.

“I could help you with that,” he suggested hotly, getting onto his knees, ready to approach. “Please…” he added a bit more submissively.

“No,” Demeny bluntly answered and waved the phaser, “lay back down. I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to hold you down and I’m going to fuck you, and I’m going to watch you get fucked. But only I decide when I’ll fuck you. For now you watch. You watch until your ass aches for me so bad it feels like I’m already inside of you.”

That was cruel, but Teval complied, silent at first. He laid still, trying to control his breathing, but soon letting it come out deeper and more ragged as he looked at the sinful display. The gloves. The collar. The movements of Demeny’s hand. The phaser. He gulped then and again, and the muscles of his rear and his asshole contracted discreetly (or so he thought) in sneaky attempts to treat his own erection trapped between his belly and the bed. He mouthed a silent “please” and whined. He hoped. Begged with his eyes.

“Demeny…” he pleaded.

It was sweet to see him like this, the Soukaran thought, and sweet as well to let go of self restraint – he laid over the other, like an embrace. Then he straightened up, pushing the tip of the phaser against Teval’s skull, while he slid lubed fingers into his asshole to give him a soft preparation.

“You know what I like about you?” he asked with a purr as he slid yet another finger in there, “Your innocence. That insecurity you hold, that attraction you have for... for your Bamarren friend. You wanted him to fuck you, didn’t you? That he’d do all that I’m doing now, this and more,” he pressed his cock against the entrance, entering into the soft, hot place at the same time as he retracted his fingers, straightening up but still aiming. Riding him, watching him.

Dear Cardassia, Demeny was  _ shameless _ . Teval hadn’t expected a second that he’d bring  _ Enjam _ into this moment and nearly wanted to protest – this was unfair, and Enjam surely would not appreciate this if he’d know! But it was also quite hot. That mixed with the pain in his ass was rather confusing – Teval wasn’t a complete virgin, but he’d only ever had fingers pushed in there by women. Demeny… Demeny was something else. A grunt escaped the Gul.

“Leave Enjam out of this… it’s you I want to be fucked by, right now, Demeny… You do it so good…” he winced and bit his tongue, groaning. It seared a bit, but it felt good too, yes. “Ah, yes. Deeper…” he begged, “fuck me…” He didn’t think of whether or not this was disorderly. It was what he wanted.

After a while, Demeny’s arm tired of holding the gun pointed at the other, and he relaxed into a mostly-hips-and-belly movement, looking down at what he was doing, the back-and-forth sliding of his member, in and out. Slick and thick, pulling and pushing.

The longer he went on, the sharper his movements and breathing, until it was more like stabbing and snarling, and the pleasure turned dizzying and infuriating at the same time. He was about certain that the mixture of pain and pleasure Teval got out of it was really good, and that alone made the act pleasurable to perform and watch. The sounds that left the Gul told of such a tale, at least. He grunted and clung to the bedsheets, stealing glances behind his shoulder to look at the man again, the black gloves, the black collar, the attitude. It was all oddly arousing.

“You make me wet, Demeny... wetter than a woman…” his eyes flickered a bit, and somehow, the words triggered stronger groans and a tight, tight series of spasms as orgasm came over him, almost like a surprise. He hissed and writhed, perspiration bringing a shiny luster to the scales of his back, while his eyes and fists closed and opened as he grabbed and pulled at the blanket. Damn. That was good. And a bit stunning too.

Demeny grinned at the abandon, the delight, the absolute pleasure; it was a pledge to his efficiency as a lover and he took it like praise.

He didn’t allow himself to follow the same current, however. Instead he contained himself, and when he was certain that the other was so empty that penetration would bring nothing but pain rather than pleasure, he pulled out and moved back, breathing and watching. Shivering at the sudden perceived cold of the room.

“And you’ve been a good girl, too,” he mocked him a little, though his voice was so muffled both by restraint and the leather, that he wasn’t sure the other could entirely hear the words.

Yet, that was a thing Teval was trained in, and after a second of rewinding the message he just heard, he threw a squint at the other, almost like a warning, but parted in disbelief at the daring.

“Oh, you…” he turned over and pinned him onto the bed, moving close and teasing his erection with his lap, with the area were scales were few and soft. He nuzzled Demeny’s nose and sniffed the leather. It smelled good… “Don’t you want to come too…? Or is it something you reserve only to someone when playing those power games?” he asked in a still hoarse voice. “I can still help you… I liked to see your joy last time…”

Demeny tried to resist and struggle free, but Teval was  _ quite _ stronger than him, and all that escaped him were a series of whimpers as he tried to get away.

“How about you try to stab me and find out for yourself what color I bleed?” he suggested, still holding the fake phaser, but in such an awkward way that it was a threat to no one.

“Oh, yes, let me see that,” Teval half-rolled him over his right side.

It didn’t take long for him to find the Editor’s hole and guide his still hard-and-slick manhood inside. He didn’t think about the fact that it was the first time he did such a thing to a man; he simply followed the moment as he pushed himself in. He moved, his hips finding their natural pace in the suggestive rocking. It was a duty they were built for, for Cardassia, and a duty Teval always carried with dedication.

He bent over the man a bit, just enough to make it easier for his left hand to find his lover’s dick and stroke it too.

“You’re beautiful. You’re handsome, Demeny. You’re mine… luzzur…” he breathed each word and reached with his right arm to hold the Editor’s shoulder and caress the scales with his thumb, just where the collar ended, to feel both textures. “Come, my beautiful Soukaran beast…”

With all the tension and lust that had already been built up, it unsurprisingly didn’t take long for Demeny to reach his climax, though in a slightly more muffled way than Teval had. Nearly curled up on himself in the effort, he stained both himself and the bed with translucid strokes.

Afterward, he laid still, slick with sweat, and his head misty, warm and soft. He dared look in Teval’s direction, but his skull was heavy and he couldn’t keep the straining position for very long.

“Thank you,” he mumbled with a quiver.

Teval smirked, obviously quite pleased, although he returned to a slightly shyer, more neutral body language. He removed himself from the other’s insides and gently laid him back on the bed, then pulled on the strings that maintained the neck corset in place, so Demeny could breath better.

“You truly are beautiful, my luzzur…” he said and caressed the man’s torso, staying relatively close until he recovered a more normal and even breathing.

“You make me beautiful,” Demeny drowsily answered, blinking slowly at Teval, shuffled a little, to remove the corset from his neck and face, so that he could lay a hand against the other’s cheek and pull him in for a kiss, soft, sweet and laced with a salt-and-leather after-taste.

“You make me feel safe,” the military replied and wondered if this was how Iltarel felt with Glain. At that thought, he tensed a little, unsure that Iltarel would approve if he knew of all this. “Ah, I should make fishjuice or something,” he said instead. “Or do you need help with the mess?” he prodded the spot where he’d been laying with a foot, feeling how very wet it’d indeed become.

“You’re my mess,” Demeny cooed and clung to Teval, mostly so he could nuzzle his neck back. “I’ll deal with everything, you’re the guest... if you want a shower, we could have one together. Then I can preen you.”

The notion made the Gul blush a bit, but he accepted.

“We could do that,” he hummed with his nose a little, then remembered that was the kind of sound Pitir made and that it wasn’t most dignified even if it was cute (to Teval, at least), and tried to sober up a bit. However, as he straightened up and look at Demeny, he couldn’t help but coo and kiss him again, “You’re so handsome, it should be forbidden…!” he scolded him before getting up for good, along with him.

“It kind of is,” jested Demeny with a chuckle as he got rid of the gloves and the corset, laying them on the bed so that he might clean them later.

It made him grin, through, this compliment, and he took Jarad’s hand like a boy in love, leading him out of the bedroom. The bed they left behind told quite a tale of what disorderly things happened there…

 

“I believe I’ve come a long way in showing you the different facets of luzzurhood,” Demeny mused as water started to dust a comfortably soft moisture on them, “are you enjoying it?”

Teval kissed him as an answer.

“More than should be allowed, too,” he admitted. It was strange, and maybe a bit worrying too. “You make me feel things I hadn’t felt this strongly for years…”

He was going to have to have a conversation with his wife, and he dreaded it a bit already. She wasn’t going to be so pleased, was she? Although, honestly, with how pregnant she was, it probably wasn’t wise to talk about such things now… Yeah, it could wait.

Demeny ran fingertips over the Gul’s chest, up over his neckscales, rubbing the water into the sweat, until one won over the other. Then he kissed him back, leaning into him.

“You make me...” he interrupted himself with another kiss. And after that kiss, he wasn’t sure he could finish that sentence – those words weren’t for a luzzur to speak, even less so to a man who was already married.

Yet, Teval could guess those words and shushed the man with a finger on his lips.

“Shh…  _ You make me too _ ,” he murmured in what could have been a trick of the trickling water, and freed Demeny’s lips so he could kiss them again. They tasted so good, those lips, and this tongue too.

Holding tightly onto the warm body of Teval Jarad, Demeny indulged in this illusion of lasting romance. He knew that once they left this room and entered their more respectable second skins, the moment would be over and on the wind like a butterfly.

“You need to talk to your wife,” he finally dared bring up, somewhere amidst those chaotic feelings. “I can’t... indulge in these things without knowing it won’t impact your real family. I’m not real,” he insisted and made some distance, “what we have isn’t real, not compared to that, and it is  _ not _ my place to lay claim.”

Teval showed a bit of outrage at that.

“It’s real, you’re real, and I want you,” he opposed. “If it’s true that  _ luzzur  _ may mean anything, then that’s what it means. You, and I… luzzurs…” he softened and rubbed his thumbs against Demeny’s hips scales. “I’ll talk to my wife and she’ll understand. You’re my luzzur and nothing stands between luzzurs, that’s how it is,” he decided with some more authority. He didn’t actually intend to talk to his wife, but on the moment, he could entertain the idea for Demeny’s sake, unless it was his own.

Demeny hummed at that and surrendered into yet another kiss – lengthy, sultry, complete with suggestive hip movements, although his lust had become drowsy with satisfaction already.

“Indulging in you makes me feel like I should cower in shame at my bold selfishness,” he confessed against the other’s lips, “I have no right, and yet I take...”

“Taking what is willingly given isn’t shameful, Demeny,” Teval indulged back, talking with a purr in his voice.“There are already so many laws telling us what we can and can’t do… please, don’t make up new ones. You’re only an Editor,” he teased him. “And I’m your Gul, and I order you to enjoy yourself and enjoy ourselves,” he grinned a bit cheekily. It was nice to have the authority to say such things, even if it was a bit kinky and improper.

“Then I will do as you command, Gul Jarad,” Demeny submitted with a peck to the other’s cheek, then his chufa, “and I’ll give myself to you until such a day that you no longer want to possess what I offer. I’m yours,  _ luzzur _ .”

Teval purred: “I don’t think such a day will come when I would no longer want what you offer me, my luzzur.”

It was a comforting moment, followed by a comforting breakfast constituting mostly of the leftovers from the previous day. Then Teval had to leave to collect Iltarel at the hospital. But things didn’t go exactly as he’d expected, and he came home to his wife empty handed and little defeated.

##  * * *

“Isn’t there something else you should tell me, sulim?” Serila asked after her husband ended telling her that Iltarel had found another place to stay.

“What do you mean?” Teval tensed but attempted to look innocent and neutral.

“I think you know very well what I mean. What you don’t know is the extent of what  _ I  _ know, which I am not going to reveal ...and don’t try to take us on one of your cheeky ‘ _ I have the means to make you speak _ ’ tangents,” she warned. “I’m very pregnant and you don’t want to upset me more than you have to. So, tell me. What have you been up to these past nights?” she raised an eyeridge.

“My dear, what are you imagining?” he showed a bit of surprise, as if the  _ mere _ notion that he would have done something reproachable was nothing but ludicrous.

“I’m not imagining anything, tahkmar,” she spoke with amusement lining a very sharp edge of danger. “You smell of someone else’s perfume.”

“Do I?” he straightened up but didn’t betray any panic. “I hadn’t noticed. But I suppose it must come from His Edar – he’s  _ been _ very sad and, you know, civilians are emotional…” he gestured vaguely. “I held his hand and gave him a hug, for support. He’s very upset: his son did get sent to psychiatric care, and you know how they are…”

“Actually I don’t, and I don’t want to discuss that either,” she interrupted as he was about to jump on the topic. “Don’t stray, Teval Jarad. What is he to you? What have you been doing with him  _ after _ you hugged him?” The Gul paled a bit. Somehow, his wife had already figured out everything. What had he done wrong? he wondered.

“Now that’s what I get for getting a Bamarren woman for a wife,” he frowned.

“Indeed. So will you speak or do I have to threaten you with disassociation? I’ll keep what comes out of my womb, believe me. It wouldn’t be so hard for me to find someone else to enjoin, even in my condition,” she assured. Whether she was bluffing or not, Teval didn’t care. Suddenly, his neat composure had been smashed and wrecked beyond repair.

“Shamar, no, he… It was… You know, he’s a man, and he’s infertile, and he’s been raising his nephew…” he tried to argue where most any man would have probably insisted that  _ nothing _ happened. Nothing  _ didn’t  _ happen, and Teval didn’t have it in himself to make such a gross lie that would probably hurt Demeny if he could hear it. The Editor may not be there physically, he still was very present in the very vivid recent memories that unfortunately juxtaposed with the present moment. Serila didn’t fail to pick on that.

“Tell me things I don’t know,” she replied.

“Well, maybe you should tell me what you know then.”

“Oh, Teval… That was one pathetic attempt at making me talk,” she shook her head. “You had sex with that man, didn’t you? I knew such a day might come but I didn’t expect it would be now, when I’m this pregnant. But oh, I guess you indeed had so much to bond over with him, and in that moment of mutual despair, you had to comfort each other like sluts,” she didn’t really care to keep her language proper.

“That’s a vile accusation!”

“Yes, but it’s also true,” Serila stared at him. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it’s not true, Teval. Tell me you did not, in fact, have sex with that man and enjoyed it too, and would very much love to do it again – I  _ know _ how it is.”

“I… I… I’m so sorry,” he started to shake a bit. “I never meant for any of this to happen, it’s all because of that book!”

“That book?” she squinted.

“ _ Nefarious Night! _ ” he defended himself, although he realized that was the most ridiculous and pathetic excuse he could have possibly mustered. “I was confused and tired, and, I don’t know… I don’t know what possessed me. I’m so sorry, shamar…” he kneeled in front of her seat and seeked for her hand, which she drew back. “I love you…” he looked at her with wet eyes reflecting fear and panic at the idea of losing her. “You’re my wife, you’re the mother of my children to come, but most of all, you’re Serila, the wonderful woman I’ve courted and desired for so long, and I cannot conceive my life without you anymore…”

“Oh, and can you conceive it without him, then?” she gave a haughty glare. He opened his mouth but no sound came. “Ha,” she pointed. “Now that’s something, isn’t it? And how are you going to explain that?”

“I… I became… We became luzzurs,” he admitted dryly.

“Cry and writhe in pain,” she shot at him and moved to get up.

“Serila, no! I love you!” he panicked altogether, pinning her back in her seat. “I love you and I’m not letting you go!” he clung to her and hugged her, his voice turning wet as he started crying against her, “I beg you, don’t leave me! You’re my wife and I’m your husband, and I’ll always be your husband!” he promised. “He… he’s… Luzzurs are different…”

“Yes, they are…” she sighed loudly. “Now can you let me get up because I’ve got a very bloated uterus weighing on my bladder and I really need to pee.”

“What…?”

“Yes, move!” she shoved him a bit.

“But, what about…”

“What? Your luzzur? Well, it’s a luzzur, you do things with him, that’s how it is,” she almost scolded him. “You thought I’d leave you over a luzzur? Sulim, I don’t think that’s even a legal reason – luzzurs don’t count as cheating more than comfort workers do. At least to me,” she shrugged and got up anyway.

“But…” he blinked, following her and helping her walk.

“But what?”

“You were angry… You don’t approve…” At that, she laughed.

“I wanted to see you upset. It shows that you care,” she smiled and kissed his cheek as they entered the bathroom. “You’re very cute when you’re upset. I’ll have to thank That Such Edar for it. Or maybe you can pass him the thanks if you’re going to see him later. I invited the doctor to come over tonight, because I expected you’d sleep out again,” she said and sat on the toilet to finally relieve herself with a sigh of relief. Teval blushed a little.

“In other words, you’re kicking me out for tonight.”

“Yes, that’ll teach you. And maybe the doctor and I will even become luzzurs too,” she teased. “Gives you something to fantasize about, hm?”

“Oh, shamar…” Teval kneeled by her side again to hug and kiss her, never-minding that this wasn’t the most romantic setting and position. Unless it was, if one gave it consideration.

##  * * *

Later that day, Teval came to the Ministry of Justice to fish his brother as he left his shift. Denek instantly asked if there were any news and Teval nodded but suggested to discuss it  _ somewhere else _ .

“It’s going to be yet another alien trial tonight on prime,” Denek chit-chatted in the transport. “There’s been some joking around that Nall Rokat should have been picked for the defense, considering his trial, but that would have been gross. It’ll be Conservator Kovat and Chief Archon Makbar, and some Federation alien. Starfleet, I believe. Gul Evek has been around, so I expect it’ll have to do with the Demilitarized Zone,” he tried to puff himself up a bit.

“I don’t really care to hear about that, Denek. I’ll be watching the trial anyway,” Teval shrugged, not caring to say he already knew about the entire affair and the expected outcome. Being in strategic ops, he got to hear of various ploys too.

Eventually, the brothers left the transport and went to a flower shop where Teval bought a platter of paper flowers – sand lilies and red harmonia. Denek was getting to be quite impatient, which was good: when he was impatient, he was always prone to short thinking, impulsive reactions and poor decisions.

“I tried to make an arrangement with His Edar,” Teval finally revealed.

“What!?” Denek got instantly irritated.

“There seemed to be a good contact between us, probably because he also raised his nephew,” Teval excused himself. “I wasn’t intending on sapping your authority; we just happened to speak, from man to man.”

“Teval, you’re a gul! It’s never man to man!”

“I didn’t say it was an equal exchange,” Teval didn’t bother to be annoyed. “Although, I must admit I found him quite friendly and reasonable. And as I learned, His Edar seems to have some contacts at the Ministry, people he’s close friends with, and who have helped him keep his position through the year. I guess it mustn’t be easy for a Soukaran to keep such a high status on Prime. A lot of people must be waiting for the first faux-pas to see him fall…” he mused.

“I believe he’s made quite a faux-pas, this time. And I would believe I have much better contacts at the Ministry than he does.”

“Yes, you have a good vesala…” Teval rolled his eyes. “You know, brother, one’s vesala isn’t just about knowing people, it’s also about using them. Do you think your vesala is better than his?” he argued. “Of course, he’s a  _ Soukaran _ , while our family has had a Prime birthright for many generations…” he figured, trying to calculate the odds. “Why, you might even stand a chance…”

“Of course I stand a chance, you idiot,” Denek grumbled. “You always underestimate me.”

“Well, it’s not like you have achieved that much-”

“-Two of my sons became Conservators!” Denek shot in outrage.

“And one of them quit the job, was denied a career by you, and now lost his penis. And what to say of your two elders with their aborted military careers, killed on Bajor when they could have become so much more? And the girls who left to the other end of the Union? Seriously, Denek, it’s a bit hard to be impressed. Father even forbade you to take over the family home, if that weren’t enough of a disgrace…”

Denek had darkened so much that his face had reached an almost-Soukaran shade in places. He was properly incensed.

“How  _ dare you _ say such things!? I’m your brother and I’m your elder! You owe me respect!”

“And I give you the respect you deserve,” Teval nodded as they approached a military monument. “Now, Gul Meret, Glinn Deleb and Glinn Suriak,” he smiled as they approached the statue abstractly representing the three men and their ever-victorious Galor class ship, “those are men who deserve all of Cardassia’s respect,” he bowed and laid the flowers down the beautiful sculpture.

“The  _ inbred  _ gul and his glinns?” Denek felt the need to be despising and hurtful. “No wonder Iltarel had to turn out a criminal with those role model of yours!”

“What are you saying?” Teval feigned not to understand. “Those were fine men who defended Cardassia and brought us glory. Gul Talem Meret is the grandfather of Enjam’s gul. Even Demeny knows how heroic Meret, Deleb and Suriak  were.”

“Demeny?” repeated Denek. “You’re on first name basis with him, are you, you traitor? I can’t believe it.”

“Then don’t, and leave us alone, Denek,” Teval tried to be appeasing, as if he were losing ground. “His vesala is stronger than yours-”

“-Name some?”

“He implied some Conservators, maybe Archons – and  _ anyway _ , it’s not about the names, Denek-”

“-No, indeed,” the secretary fired. “Get lost in court. Your friend is good as dead, believe me. A word here, a word there… that Soukaran has fared for much too long on this planet,” he snorted and started to walk away.

“Wait! You can’t do this! Our families will be joined! Iltarel wishes to enjoin Dayar; I won’t-”

“-You won’t do anything!” Denek turned back, writhing in anger. “I will not let my son enjoin that Soukaran gender-confused thing! And when I’m done with those disorderly Edars, I’ll have you demoted! And that child! You thought I’d never learn about Serila!? Oh, I’ve been much too nice with you, and for much too long…” he pointed a finger at Teval, who was now paling a bit for real. He hadn’t expected things to take such a turn, and he truly had underestimated his brother’s intelligence.

“Don’t you do anything such, Denek… You can’t do this. Central Command won’t let you…”

“I don’t need to go through Central Command, you idiot.  _ You _ will quit your position, if you want to keep your wife and that kid,” the secretary chuckled, finally delighting a bit in the situation. He noticed that Teval’s hand had landed on his phaser, but he didn’t worry. “What, you’d kill me? What would that get you? You’ll lose everything,” he humphed. “And I’m not worth it, because that’s how little respect you have for me. I’m not worth all you have in your life. You have no respect for family. You disgust me,” he winced and turned around again, taking his PADD and walking away while going through his contact list. Out of panic, Teval sprinted and stole the PADD away from his brother’s hand to smack it on the pavement and smash the screen with his boot.

“Oops,” he just commented.

“Go suck your Demeny’s dick one last time because soon, you’ll never see him ever again,” Denek replied in cold anger.

“Fascinating conversation,” a thin voice sidled up with the angrier of the two brothers, “and now that you’ve thrown profanities all over the  _ inbred _ Gul Meret and his Glinns, what do you expect me to do?” the man’s eyelashes fluttered with dark innocent as he sent a playfully chilly glare at Denek.

A bit short and on the plump side, with a kind round face that shone with sweetness, the newcomer looked like a perfectly normal citizen. That was, aside from the fact that he was dressed in an indiscreet garment, courtesy of State Intelligence. He wasn’t undercover. Why should he be? He deserved to be part of society too, sometimes, and this was such a time.

Teval froze before Denek did and attempted to disappear in sheer survival instinct, the sort he’d had to rely on to survive his years at Bamarren, especially from Second Level and on. Denek looked at the Obsidian man in disbelief, although he understood very well the underlying treat. Quite unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely managing to calm down, getting nervous instead.

“Why… I… I was just… My brother…” he tried to throw the blame on Teval instead, pointing in… where had he gone? He looked at where the gul stood just before, but couldn’t exactly pinpoint his position, and looking around didn’t help either. To Denek, Teval had faded from existence. “I swear, he was here…”

The agent chuckled a bit and leaned in to Denek, knowingly.

“He likes to pretend I can’t see him, it makes him comfortable,” he told him in confidence, then straightened up again, “but that’s unimportant – he’s not my guest of honor. You are.”

“What do you mean?” Denek asked in a more highly pitched voice.

“It means you’ve fucked up for the last time,” Teval reappeared by his side. “Looks like you ran out of vesala,” he contemplated his brother. The man had never seemed as small as he did now, lost in confusion. Teval glanced at the agent, tempted to ask what would be his brother’s fate, and tempted to also ask… No, that was out of question anyway.

“Die like a Cardassian,” the Gul just said and kissed his brother’s chufa. “I won’t miss you but I’ll chant your name,” he said and stepped back. He felt a little light-headed.

“Tsk, tsk, such language,” the Order agent reprimanded him and shook his head in disapproval. “You’re not going to die,” he assured Denek with a pat on his arm, “at least not instantly,” he added pleasantly, then looked at Teval, the grey of his eyes nearly consumed by the black pupil. “Make no mistake, Your Jarad. He is mine. And there is nowhere you can take him, that I haven’t already taken him,” he grinned and nodded, “good day to you.”

And with that, he grabbed onto Denek’s arm and requested transportation, dissolving them both into light to be cast into the obsidian darkness.

Teval stared at the spot where they had been standing, then moved backwards and sat on the first surface he found, which was the edge of one of the sand fountains surrounding the area. For a little while, he reviewed what had just happened and the very clear threat he just got for himself. How did he know? Weren’t the cameras supposed to be turned off?

“Liars, all of them,” he hissed to himself in such a low voice that the movement of sand behind him seemed even louder in comparison. Then he tapped his combracelet and requested transport home, because he really needed a warm cup of his wife’s choban with fishmilk. When he rematerialized in the hall, he could hear that Doctor Garidan had already arrived and was engaged in a rather cheerful conversation with Serila.

“Sulim,” he made his presence known as he stepped in the living room, “we’re going to have a house.”

“What?” she looked at him. “You’re a bit pale, shamar…”

“We’re going to have a house,” he repeated. “Maybe Iltarel and Dayar could live here,” he looked around. “It’s a nice flat, and I’m sure they would enjoy it. And you, shamar, will get to give birth in the beautiful house in which I was born,” he decided more happily.

“Men,” Serila rolled her eyes at the doctor. “He doesn’t even ask if I’m fine with it, you know, because he thinks he just mentioned the most attractive idea that could be, and why would  _ I _ want otherwise?” she commented, vastly unimpressed, and the doctor was slightly amused.

“But it has a  _ pond _ , shamar,” Teval argued.

Serila stopped and look at him.

“When do we get to move?” she got serious.

“I… I guess when I receive a notification about the ...administrative shortcomings. But… I… I’ll get going, I guess. Can I have a cup of choban, first?” he begged a little like a child and Serila laughed.

“Saima, dear, would you help me with that?”

Teval did take notice of that first name basis but didn’t comment.

##  * * *

A bit later, he rang at Demeny’s door, dressed in civilian clothes – steel blue with cyan lining and a deep purple scarf.

“I’m getting a house, we need to talk and those cameras aren’t turned off,” was the first thing he told when the Editor opened the door.

“You’re getting a house? We need to talk? The cameras aren’t – oh,” Demeny stepped aside to let his guest in, hurrying after him as they went to the kitchen table. “Is there anything I could tempt you with? Tea? I – what did he say to you?” he asked in a fainter voice, “Whatever he said, I’m sorry – it’s my fault.”

“We’re not going to discuss whose fault it is – at any rate, I believe it went well. He took my brother but not me, although he… I hadn’t imagined he could look that innocent and friendly, and also…” he gesticulated, “I believe you already know,” he shook his head and sat himself on the counter like a barbarian. “I don’t really know how to feel about this all, it’s… It’s a bit confusing. This kind of people, they have a talent for mixing sugar and salt, and then they pour it on your hide, and woe to you if you have the least wound,” he chuckled nervously. “Also, my wife kicked me out for the night. She invited her doctor. I’m not sure how close they’ve become and I didn’t ask. Maybe I should have,” he sighed and interrupted himself to point at one of the boxes of tea Demeny was wielding. “Yes, that one smells good.”

Demeny prepared the tea Teval had chosen, a slight blush on his cheeks and something teasing in his pants at the thought of what brought him this shy shame.

“ _ He _ has that effect on people,” he mumbled without looking from what he was doing. “He came by, after you left. To make sure I was-” he took a deep breath and smile, even though he now  was quite horny and awkwardly so. “He told me I’m allowed to see you, as long as you dared to continue seeing me, and that if you weren’t daring to take me while he watches, then you aren’t worthy,” he gulped. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t exactly consent to his games – he’s with the Order, I guess consent is a natural given with those, and all we can do is to humbly submit to their loving abuse. Or something like that.” It felt wrong to talk about this to Teval, even more so because he had a feeling that the Gul would be uneasy, while he himself was more and more aching for another fuck.

Oh, Teval thought. So, that was how it was going to be now? Some sort of competition. The young man Teval had been, and the gul he’d grown up to be, had never minded the Order’s cameras. Everybody had sex in front of them, and there wasn’t much to think about it. However, to know  _ someone _ in particular would be watching and judging...

“Maybe you should invite him to come and watch directly, and then we can hear his comments too,” he grumbled in annoyance and shook his head again. “I doubt he’d allow us to enjoy ourselves, then,” he snorted, eyeing at the other. He’d always liked to watch someone prepare tea or cook for him, and didn’t fail to pick on Demeny’s state of arousal. “ _ You _ however would like that, hm?” he teased with a crooked smile to torment the snake in the Editor’s pants.

Demeny tried to hide his crotch against the counter, though he felt his neckscales get hot and dark.

“Be mindful of what you say, or he might as well turn up. It’s not a good idea to dare him,” he pointed out as he fumbled with the teapot. “Whether or not I’d like it doesn’t matter, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, luzzur,” he looked at Teval with round eyes, albeit tainted by luscious lust. “I want you both. I don’t know what you’re... imagining about me.”

“I’m not imagining anything,” Teval hopped down the counter and waltzed around Demeny, whirling him back to the counter so he could face him and reach for his lips. “I’m your luzzur, he’s your master… we don’t fill the same role, so… I guess it should be fine if I keep to my jurisdiction, hm?” he asked and stroked Demeny’s shirt on the chest, searching for the reliefs of scales and nipples underneath the fabric. “My wife says she doesn’t consider luzzurs as cheating,” he opted to say. “I’d hope your master thinks the same…” he raised to his feet again to kiss Demeny’s neck where it was dark. “I don’t want to provoke him, but I don’t want to censor myself either, because there shouldn’t be censorship between luzzurs. It’s what luzzurhood is about, isn’t it? Trust, intimacy, tenderness… And for us-” he laced his arms around the thin man and pressed their groins closer, “-sex too… My wife guessed right. I enjoyed it very much, what we did, and I want more of it,” he offered his lips for a more sultry kiss.

“I’m glad you spoke to her,” stuttered Demeny into Teval’s hot lips, his own body turning hot and restless, too, “and I am not sure I could cheat on Master. He encourages me to be the way I am – when he’s happy, he calls me free-spirited. When he’s angry, he calls me a slut, and then he punishes me until he’s satisfied that he's the only thing on my mind,” he hiccuped a little laid his fingers on Teval’s neckscales. “I’m still not entirely sure what I am to him. He likes it that way, I think.”

“His,” Teval answered. “That’s what you are. His, to take to places no one will ever take you to,” he raised an eyeridge. “You’re very hot, aren’t you?” he suggested with a hip movement, “I’m thirsty too, but the tea needs to infuse some more… Maybe I could quench myself a bit if you’d open your pants, hm?” he offered and glanced at the camera.

Demeny paused there and followed Teval’s gaze, looking at the camera too, then at the Gul.

“He wasn’t as you expected him to be,” he noticed and closed his eyes. “I don’t think he’s looking now; if he took your brother, then he’ll be busy with him... and you  _ do _ have something he doesn’t have,” he added with mischief, very well aware that this would come back to bite him later, “you’re a Gul. So we get to do kinky nameplay, and it gets to be true.”

Teval chuckled at that.

“I’d trust him to watch the record later, but  _ anyway _ , that’s not what I care about. I’ve fucked in front of those cameras all my life and I won’t let it bother me now more than before. Open your pants, Editor, it’s an order,” he grinned and kneeled, grabbing the fabric of the pants so he could pull them down as soon as the man obeyed.

There, he didn’t pull on the underwear yet, kissing the fabric and what laid inside instead. He breathed hotly, licked and suckled, teasing his lover until his wetness started to seep through the cloth. At which point, he grinned.

Demeny endured the other’s work on him, although it was getting pleasurably unbearable and difficult to breathe, to see clearly.

“Gul Teval Jarad, you truly know how to do this – where did you learn?”

“My wife must’ve taught me,” he answered a bit smugly and finally pulled the underwear down to keep on the job with his mouth and his hands.

He refrained from getting too wild, wary so to keep things pleasurable rather than turn them painful. He wanted to keep this moment alike to the tenderness he felt for Demeny, least things might slip toward something more competitive, something he didn’t want to fall into. Although the temptation did lay around the corner. As a gul, Teval didn’t get to fight battles of his own aboard a ship, he didn’t get to face the enemy, and the thrills he felt weren’t the same as he faced when fighting in the holosuite, or for training. And yet, all those combats were more alike to games in which laid no real danger. Yes, he had to reckon, a part of him did want to challenge Demeny’s Master.

But not now, he resolved and pleasantly suckled on his lover’s dick. Making him come wasn’t going to take long, he could feel, and so he did his best to drag the moment and stretch the time, especially toward the end. He quite wanted the Soukaran to turn into a mess, as his own reward.

Demeny clenched his fingers around the edge of the counter, both for balance and as a way to prevent himself from using them. Words came from him, half-spoken, half-moaned. He’d bite at the air, hiss and grunt – after trying to resist for too long, he came with a half-shout, body cramping and shivering with each pulsating shot, and he felt truly shameless about it.

“That was... something,” he exhaled as he looked down at his lover, “I’m so... you’re so,” he smiled warmly, “beautiful.”

“You’re starting to repeat yourself, Chief Editor,” Teval chastised him as he got back up on his feet. He kissed him while helping him to get his pants back on and the kiss tasted of cum.

“You’re handsome, luzzur…” he said afterwards. “I think  the tea is about ready now. Let’s go drink it and talk of the future. I’m getting a house. That means I might end up with an empty flat on my hands soon. It’s in Akleen, yes, but that doesn’t mean it would be unfit for civilians to live there. After all, in some years, we might end up with beautiful grandsons fit to join the military,” he grinned toothily, clearly expecting Demeny to have other ideas about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	38. IV - Behind the scenes

#  Behind the scenes

It was earlier that day, and Iltarel was getting dressed when his PADD chimed. On one hand, he still felt angry at Glain, but on the other hand, he had to admit that his luzzur seemed to have read his mind and anticipated his needs with a proposition the albino could difficultly turn down.

“Are you ready to go home?” Teval asked, appearing at the door in his nephew’s back.

Iltarel looked at him like through a haze.

“Yes,” he answered, “but I’m not going home.”

“I know,” the military smiled softly. “I’m taking you with me of course.”

“No. No, uncle,” Iltarel denied. “You go home and take care of your wife. She’s pregnant. She needs you more than I do. I’ll be fine,” he assured.

Teval tensed.

“And… where…?”

“The Rokat home is vacant,” Iltarel showed his PADD. “Nall is in hospital care, Glain is in Akleen with his uncle, the children started the Institute…”

“I see,” Teval nodded. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes.”

The hard part in being a parent was having to place trust in a child, and it was especially harder for Teval, when he’d recently failed everybody with his poor judgement, but he had to trust his nephew. And so he let him go. For safety and discretion, he had him beamed to the house in Paldar, because he had the authority to do this, and he hoped that was one good choice.

Iltarel rematerialized in the house. It was empty and silent, giving the dwelling all the more presence. It was slightly oppressing – such a house wasn’t meant to be devoid of anyone inside – but the young man tried to ignore the ghastly feelings and settled in. He decided to claim his usual room, the one Elem had previously occupied, because sleeping in Glain’s bed was out of question.

Everything was so calm. So dead.

The young man busied himself by reading tech journals, but as day started to shift into dusk, and dusk into night, it was getting harder and harder to concentrate. He undressed, slipped under the bedsheets and tried to sleep then, but couldn’t seem to find slumber. The house felt like it was trying to swallow him whole. And then… then, he wasn’t sure when the bedroom’s door had let her in, but Liyara stood there. He gulped and froze, staring as she paced around to inspect the room, humming to herself and looking back at him.

At first, her image was but slightly disturbing and disquieting, but when she sat in the armchair and started staring intently at him, a feeling of dread wrapped around him more and more. She was judging him, and her opinions weren’t good.

It took an exhausting amount of strength for Iltarel to break from the mild paralysis he was thrown into to reach for his PADD and compose a message.

In Akleen, the chime awoke Glain as he was sinking into sleep.

“ _ Your mother is looking at me. I’m scared. Tell her I’m sorry, _ ” read Iltarel’s message. It was quizzical and the young man tried to call his friend, first, but the calls were denied, so he sent a message back instead.

“ _ On my way. _ ”

It took him almost an hour to reach his home and he felt like he was sneaking in someone else’s house as he made it inside. Truly, could Glain still call it his home when he’d spent most of his nights and days away from it for years now?

He called Iltarel’s name, but only as a whisper, as if calling too loud might draw the attention of a monster. Tiptoeing, he made his way upstairs and somehow, he knew where to go exactly. He entered the room and heard a muffled whimper. He stopped and substance seemed to leave him at the sight of his friend hiding entirely under the blanket like a child, and crying to himself.

“Iltarel… I’m here,” he said softly and turned on the light before approaching.

The other didn’t respond at once, likely sniffling and trying to wipe his tears.

“Glain…” finally came the rauque voice.

“Yes. It’s me, luzzur,” the younger man sat on the bed and caressed what seemed to be a shoulder.

“Is she gone…?”

It took Glain a moment to understand that question.

“Yes. Yes, she’s gone,” he eventually answered. “It’s just you and I. We’re safe.”

After a silent while, Iltarel peered from under the blanket and unearthed his head from it. His hair was messy and his face still bore the dark swell of cries.

“I was so afraid…” he uttered like an apology.

“It’s alright. I’m not leaving. I’ll veil you all through the night,” Glain promised.

And he did.

He tried to sing his friend to sleep, and when that didn’t work, he stopped with the lullabies and sung his and Iltarel’s favorite songs. Around four in the night, they went downstairs and Glain cooked for the both of them, cutting bird meat and dipping it in egg yolk, hard bread-flour and seeds.

They talked a little, mere chit-chat, as if everything was fine, and those seemingly meaningless words meant the world to them both. Iltarel seemed to get better, and it was Glain’s turn to break, eyes getting wet from a mix of tiredness and emotional overflow.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured and sniffled.

Iltarel wrapped his arms around him, standing in his back as the young Conservator stirred the bits of bird meat in the pan, trying to focus on the task to keep in control of himself.

His dedication didn’t decrease his emotion, but at least, the food wasn’t burning and he could serve it, along with slices of fresh moba fruit.

“It’s my fault-”

“-No, Glain, it’s mine,” Iltarel cut off as they started eating. “I shouldn’t have given up control of myself. I yielded to my urges and acted like… like-”

“-Like a needy man whom I wish had washed himself onto me like that,” Glain cut. “I saw the evidence. I didn’t watch all of it, just enough to… You were beautiful,” he winced, looking down at his plate.

There was a silence.

“It’s not going to happen, Glain,” Iltarel finally said.

“Look at us, Iltarel,” he raised his eyes again, “doesn’t it feel good?” he gestured at the kitchen and the house around them, which had retrieved its cozy atmosphere. “We could live like this. We could live together,” he tried to bargain but the other shook his head.

“You’re a Conservator, Glain, and Dayar needs me.”

“Of course, he does, and if you think fucking him was your mistake, then think again,” the youth couldn’t help the heat in his voice. “I love you and I don’t want to see you suffer like Vydrain. You didn’t know him and Lukor as closely as I did, but heed my word, luzzur: your love isn’t what will keep Dayar alive. It will take more than that, much more than that. I’ve been in psychiatric care, you remember?” he forked a bit of bird meat.

“And so you know better?” Iltarel squinted.

“Do you even know what Dayar suffers from? Do you even know what it’s called?” Glain raised an eyeridge.

No answer came.

“Thought so. And you think you can fix a problem you know nothing about? You might be a genius engineer, there are limits to arrogance, luzzur. People aren’t machines you can just troubleshoot and mend or improve, and if I should be honest, you’ve never been the finest of us when it comes to people.”

“True, you’re the one who knows the intricacies of the mind and how to induce long-lasting trauma in others,” the albino accused. “You’re the one who created a hologram of-”

“-And you’re the one who erased him,” Glain fired a killer gaze. “Shut up, Iltarel. Shut up, because you know nothing! You can’t even begin to fathom what I’ve really been through during these past years… or would you really have wanted to know about the illegal and immoral things going on in this house? I needed him so I wouldn’t endanger those I loved with my confidences,” he shook his head and laid back in his chair. “I love you,” he grunted. “I love you so much it hurts. I’m  _ in love _ with you and it killed me inside to see you and Dayar kissing like… like you would never have kissed me,” he admitted bitterly. “But I love you and I worry for you. And for him. I’ve worried for him from the start…” he softened.

“Gender dysphoria,” he threw. “That’s what killed Lukor, and that’s what will kill Dayar too, so… you should talk about it with Sokal, Delna and Sleen. Hear out what they have to say, hear what the options are. Don’t let him die, Iltarel. You two deserve to be happy together… more than I’ll ever do,” he felt his throat swelling again and had to brace himself in silence.

Iltarel contemplated the words for a long while. He’d wanted to interrupt his friend, but as it turned out, Glain had constructed his speech masterfully enough that there was nothing to reply anymore. Bloody son of a Conservator.

“I love you too,” he finally said. “But you’re my luzzur and he’s my shamar. You’re a Conservator and you need a wife, not more problems. And I won’t let you have Dayar. I love him. I want to be joined with him, have children with him, have a family with him. You… don’t. You don’t love him. It’s just lust for you, and you know nothing about him-”

“-I already know all that. It’s you I’m after, Iltarel,” the young man quietly interrupted, shameless in his demeanor.

“You’re a slut and I’m not going to ever sleep with a slut. I’m faithful.”

Somehow, it hurt more than Glain had expected and he didn’t find anything to reply. Iltarel hadn’t expected that either and softened a bit in a pang of guilt.

“I didn’t mean it exactly like that-”

“-Oh yes, you did and it was true,” Glain refused the white lie. “But don’t worry, Enjam has ordered me to be abstinent and to stop looking for someone to enjoin,” he revealed.

Iltarel was nonplussed.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll find your comfortable way around that,” he shared his honest opinion.

“I don’t intend to. I’m tired, Iltarel. My life’s a mess and I’m tired. I sincerely wish Elem hadn’t stopped me. I’m losing my purpose and I feel like I’ve already been dead for years. You see, in the psychiatric ward, they destroyed me. I struggled, and then my own father destroyed me again, turning me into this thin shadow I’ve become,” he raised his forearm and wrapped his thumb and his middle finger around it to show the unhealthy slimness of it.

“Yes, we had our moments, and you, especially, kept me alive, but it’s getting hard to think of the future. Of a future in which I won’t have you, because I know you’ll choose your shamar over your luzzur, and I cannot fault you for this. I’ve done the same after all, which is why I’m here tonight, shamar.”

“Don’t call me that,” Iltarel said coldly.

“No… But that’s what luzzur means when I call you.”

And there, for a second, Glain was tempted to tell him about his other luzzur. Siram. But he still had a functional instinct of self-preservation after all, and so he didn’t. This was no moment for such a revelation.

“My beautiful Iltarel… Elem and Delna say I need to think of the person I’ll become someday, a better, happier person… I wonder if I’ll ever become such a person however. What do you think, luzzur?”

“I cannot know the future,” Iltarel murmured. “Anything can happen, especially the worst… but I’d rather face it with you,” he admitted. “When it gets darker, it gets darker for us all, and I’d never been so afraid of the night as I am now. You’re right… I don’t know what’s wrong with Dayar. I don’t know what’s wrong with me either… I should have listened to Keelani; I should have indulged instead of turning myself into this inexperienced idiot-”

“-No, you only were yourself,” Glain assured. “I’ve never told you, but I’ve always admired your self-restraint. I don’t know if I indulged too much and you not enough, maybe that’s the case, but at any rate, it was our choice. It’s what we did, and now it’s time to discover more aspects of ourselves. You’ll get to indulge more, and I’ll have to learn self-restraint,” he laid his hand across the table and Iltarel took it.

“I love you, Glain… Please, stay a little more with me. With us all.”

The young man looked at his elder and finally smiled a bit.

“I’ll try,” he agreed. “Iltarel… you remember that night on Soukara? In the caldera tree, with the fireflies…”

“How could I ever forget? You wanted us to live there forever,” the albino smiled back.

“The blasts of disruptors echoed from afar, I huddled close to you…”

“I know… I was there, Glain. I was there. And I’ll never forget that night either.”

“Thank you… that’s all I need to know,” the young man relaxed at last.

##  * * *

If Glain and Teval helped Iltarel and Demeny to find better sleep while Dayar slept in psychiatric ward, that didn’t erase all the concerns that were to be had for the young Soukaran. A week in the sleek facilities of mental healthcare could efficiently wash personality off a patient’s brain, so that they might better conform to what Cardassia needed them to be.

Dayar’s stay begun by another story: that a man called Milas Nilaran.

Intern Milas Nilaran was twenty-four and had grown to be well-respected in the ward. It wasn’t so often that a patient got to become a practitioner there, but again, Milas’s story wasn’t the most common either. To begin with, he hadn’t always been called Nilaran – quite sadly, his family had disassociated from him, and he’d opted to take a new name. But still, the young man had bloomed in the ward. He’d even learned to cope with his phobia of voles, although he’d never gotten rid of his severe aversion for holosuites and anything to do with them. He could talk about the subject, hide his feelings about it, but you’d never see him anywhere close to any room hosting a holographic projector.

“I would like to have the Edar case,” he’d politely told his superior when they’d gotten news of the new client they would be delivered in the night, following the end of the trial.

Doctor Menek smiled faintly.

“You’ll owe me a favor for this one,” she said and handed him the PADD. “Don’t mess it, Nilaran. The legal representant has a high position: Chief Editor of Lakat.”

“I know,” the young man nodded with respect and gentle kindness. “I’m here to make our patients feel better and heal,” he smiled softly.

And so, he’d gotten the case.

He’d taken his time, to try and make his client easier – Dayar, in the beginning, was very much trying to deliver the expected behavior, which wasn’t a surprise to Milas, but wasn’t welcome either. If he wished to help that poor young man, he needed to establish trust and reassure him.

“You saw the trial,” Dayar answered with logic when asked how he’d ended up in the ward, “what more can I say?”

“Do you wish to talk about that?” Milas asked with a slightly sorry expression, then nodded. “I’m not here to talk about the trial. I’m here to make sure you’re not going to get into another trial when you leave this facility, and, if it’s not too arrogant of me, I  _ hope _ you’ll also bear a smile on your face,” he smiled. “I know being here isn’t the best of times for most anyone. The doctors, they look at you like you’re not exactly a Cardassian, the nurses, they pretend you don’t exist, and the other patients, they’re all crazy, rude, either too full of emotions or not enough…” he shook his head. “Although,” he conceded, “some can be rather nice.” He paused, giving Dayar a malicious look. “I know how it is because I’ve been there. I  _ got better _ ,” he specified, raising a finger. “I got better, and usually, the people I work with get better too. I don’t see them as patients or clients; I see them as people. You’re a person, Dayar Edar, and right now, that’s what matters to me most,” he said and gestured at the other chair. “Maybe you’d like to sit more comfortably? And, maybe you’d like to use this?” he took a comb from the inner pocket of his pristine, black and white uniform, and offered it to the Soukaran.

Dayar welcomed the comb although he kept wary of the tale at first, considering that it might be a made-up story to help the ward personel in achieving their therapeutic goals. Still, he relaxed gradually as they spoke. He told of his relationship with Iltarel, and Milas listened carefully. The Intern raised a faintly surprised eyeridge when Glain’s name was mentioned, and he opted to share a discreet gossip about Nall Rokat in return…

“His wife should have been transferred to one of our wards, but he battled against it and kept her home against all recommendations. Even when she no longer was capable of recognizing her own child – that’s the sort of thing that can really mess up someone, especially around that age…” he pinched his lips in disapproval. “I’ve always wondered if the son ended up ...disturbed,” he winced at the ugly choice of word.

“I think he did, a bit,” Dayar muttered: “He kept a holographic program for company. You know, the kind that remembers what you told them last time. But it died,” he added with a bit of a lip-twitch, “I killed it.”

The topic made Milas shudder internally, but he steeled himself – he’d prepared himself for this. He’d prepared himself for years, and now. Now the time had come.

He probbed further while ordering breakfast for Dayar, whose stomach was making growling sounds. The Soukaran took it as a cue that he was doing good enough to be rewarded with food, and told some more of his awkward date at the holosuite.

“Do you think this program might have been meant to… cause trauma?” Milas inquired with a neutral stance.

“I... felt, I guess, drawn to the ledge,” Dayar admitted. “A part of me would like to do the same, but that’s me,” he added a bit more painfully. “I don’t think that the program was designed for trauma: I’m the one who killed that hologram, and... I already wanted to die. I’ve been having these thoughts, this longing for some time already. I don’t want to be turned into a woman: I’m not a woman,” he added sternly and clenched his jaws together. He was certain that this was the moment when the therapy would truly start.

Milas kept silent for a moment, analyzing the information, splitting it into relevant parts and planning everything.

“Alright,” he finally said. “You’re not a woman. You’re… a female, but not a woman,” he said, gesturing with a hand for each concept, setting them apart. “Biology is a complicated topic,” he gestured with the ‘female’ hand, “and psychology is another complicated topic,” he waved the ‘woman’ hand. “They entwine in some places of the body and the brain, but they aren’t exactly the same. But what that means to me, is that, if you are a man, Your Edar, then ...that’s what you are, and I cannot dispute it. You are a man, and your female body is a man’s body. The body of the man you are,” he said simply. “The only problem we have is that the law has a different vision of those things, but I’m not a Notator, so it’s not my job to talk about law. I’m only here to take care of your mind, and so far? I think you’re a rather sane man, but unhappy. Deeply unhappy,” he wet his lips and gave him an empathetic, sorry look. “My superior would say that a handsome man such as yourself shouldn’t be so sad, but given your circumstances, I believe your sadness is very much justified. Still,” he bent forward and set his hands on Dayar’s knees, “we don’t want you to die, Your Edar. You’re a valuable citizen, and this ‘crime’ you committed was… let’s be honest; just a misguided moment of love and passion in a troubled time of your life. Everybody’s got troubled times at some point, and we wouldn’t be Cardassian if we didn’t know how to forgive those moments, because you have so much yet to offer.”

Amongst all possible answers, that wasn’t one Dayar had ever expected.

“You mean,” he swallowed at the dryness of his throat, trying to concentrate on what had just happened, “you mean you understand?” he asked in disbelief, frowning a bit helplessly at the confusion that darted through him, “You’re not here to pressure me to become a woman?”

“No, indeed,” Milas smiled amusedly. “But I understand your surprise as well. I read your file and the… ah, direction which your therapist had been taking…” he moved his head a bit, showing disapproval in his body language. “If we’re here today, I see it as the proof that she was incompetent in helping you, and so, clearly, there is no use in continuing to apply the same methods –  _ that _ would be insane,” he half-joked. “No, you’re a man, you’ve proved yourself as a man for what, soon eighteen years now? I won’t argue with that. No, our predicament, Your Edar, is that we can’t ignore your internal organs,” he bit his lips and leaned forward a bit. “There might be a way, still. A way that would allow you to keep on living as a man. But for this, and  _ before _ I explain the method, I need to ask you some questions,” he resumed to a more serious and doctor-like attitude, although there still was this feeling of harmlessness coming from him, the sort of feeling that invited trust.

“I would like to know more about His Jarad and the way you view him, as a man,” he said and laid back in his seat a bit. “You know he was born intersexed, do you?” he mentioned and brought up some photos on his screen and showed them to Dayar. Those were school archives, photos on which children groups featured, including a little albino with long hair, often dressed as a girl, sometimes as a boy.

Dayar looked at the photos, and felt his shoulders immediately dropping as he reached for the screen, a smile warming his lips.

“I have to admit, I’ve sometimes... thought it would have been better if he were a woman,” he looked up at Milas. “In a sense, it would’ve been more comfortable to me if Iltarel had been allowed to remain a girl. I prefer the company of women: they are... so much more brilliant, intelligent and sexy,” he blushed a bit. “I think Iltarel would’ve developed into a dangerously beautiful woman, lethal, impressive, strong... one I would have been comfortable surrendering to,” he bit his lower lip and took a deep breath. “Do you like women, Milas?”

“I. I probably do,” the Intern answered, a bit taken aback. “I haven’t given much thought to those things,” he tried to get rid of the topic. “But then, you can conceive of Iltarel as either man or woman?” he asked. “Are those conceptions tied to his physical appearance, or…?” he probbed.

It took longer for Dayar to answer that one question, but in the end, Milas managed to make up that Dayar seemed to understand gender as mindsets that were either male or female – and females were much better and more apt at most everything, according to him.

“We would’ve have ended up in trial if one of us had been a woman,” Dayar regretted: “Once he couldn’t stop himself, I found I couldn’t either, and...” he winced a little. “But women, they have better self-restraint – they tease and they hint and they display themselves and lure you in, but they never go further than what’s legal.”

“I’m afraid women have been found guilty of having sex in public too,” Milas denied. “And I mean women with women,” he specified. “When it comes to such drives, both genders are very capable of all sorts of things,” he nodded. “Then again, with such diversity in bodies, it’s difficult to rule all those statistics correctly,” he admitted. “One could say that individuals with more testosterone are more masculine, but what would you think? Iltarel possesses a lot of this hormone, more than… if we should compare to, ah, Glain Rokat,” he let out a very faint chuckle – “notorious for a very low amount of testosterone, as was mentioned during his trial,” he read from his PADD: “confessed that he’d been ridiculed for being too feminine and had his masculinity and manhood put in question, triggering dysphoria and self-murder attempt,” he summed up. “What do you think, Dayar? Are they men? And on which grounds so? Iltarel is going to look more like a female downwards… Is it going to affect your vision of him as a man? What makes them men?” he oriented the question.

Dayar looked at the blank walls surrounding them, as though they could somehow be helpful.

“They aren’t women?” he guessed weakly, “Though, I heard Glain wore a dress once. Maybe he’s a woman? After all,  _ I _ lied during my trial, perhaps he did the same? Maybe Glain Rokat isn’t a man? The same way that I’m not a woman.”

“He wore a dress?” Milas froze a bit in contemplation. How disorderly had Glain Rokat turned out to be? he wondered. Then he shook his head and cleared his throat: “So, you have female attributes but you’re not a woman. Iltarel has male attributes and you’ve seen him as a man so far. Glain ...has male attributes and has claimed to be a man too so far – and I would believe that. You see… in all these equations, we have various elements: the body, the social role, and what people say they are. Now, look at me, and tell me, what do you think I am? A man or a woman?” he smiled.

“You’re a man,” concluded Dayar without any hesitation, “or else you wouldn’t be allowed to keep your hair that short.”

“Alright, I present as a man,” Milas nodded. “But how can you be certain I’m not ‘lying’ as you said before? Maybe this haircut is a lie to you. Maybe it doesn’t reflect how I feel inside,” he suggested. “How can you know that I’m not a woman?” he raised an eyeridge.

“I -” Dayar stopped there, then closed his mouth, “I don’t know. But you, ah, you don’t particularly strike me as a woman. Your body language is different, and it would be disorderly for me to think of you as a woman.”

Milas nodded. They were interrupted but briefly as breakfast was delivered.

“You see, Dayar, it’s impossible to know what people are at first glance,” the Intern invited his patient to eat. “There are people, like you, who have a female body and a man’s mind, as Notators put it. The way I see it, you are a man with a man’s body. It doesn’t matter what your body is like, because what defines you as a man is inside, for you to know. So if you say you’re a man, and that’s truly what you believe you are, then you are a man to me. You could be wearing a dress and I’d still acknowledge you as a man. You could be pregnant with your shamar’s child and I’d still acknowledge you as a man. Because it’s what you are and it cannot be put in question.”

“But it would be illegal for you to treat me as a man then,” he countered and gulped some bread, “I would have to pretend to be a woman, and keep the rest of me a secret – isn’t that just like not existing at all?”

“No, that’s being a Cardassian,” Milas said softly and gestured at the food. “All Cardassians have secrets, but not all those secrets are tied to their identity. Yet there are some like you, like Glain, and… other people… People can hold secrets that can make them feel like a fraud. But I think that’s a wrong perception…” he lowered his voice further, murmuring intelligibly and almost like a song: “When you are with those who know who you are and acknowledge you as such, you are with your people, Dayar. The rest, society… it’s the fraud. That’s where we play pretend, all of us. That’s where we lie about who we are and what we do. That’s why we worry so much about being representative. When we are representative, we’re not ourselves. Don’t you think?”

Dayar disagreed: “When we’re representative, we are supposed to be  _ the best we can be _ . And I’m not the best I can be if I have to be a woman,” he looked defiantly at Milas.

“Alright…” the young warden acknowledged, “and does that vision bring you comfort? Does it make you feel better about yourself? Tell me, when do you truly think you are at your best? And tell me the same about your uncle, and the persons you love. When are they at their best?” he challenged.

“I’m at my best when I perform peak efficiency at work,” Dayar chimed and straightened up a little, going on a bit more over his writing. “My uncle is likewise at his best when he’s the most handsomely dressed and does his job. He’s highly respected at his workplace, and appreciated too. And Iltarel...” he paused, “To me, I like it when he looks at me, and when we talk. When he tries to impress me, and when he tell me of things he never told anyone else. That night… I couldn’t resist. He was so beautiful, and so... ravenous,” he blushed a bit and looked into his cup.

“He is charismatic,” Milas summed in agreement, nodding in a ‘ _ I’ll give you that _ ’ sort of way. A shiver ran all over his back but he didn’t let it show, and ignored the sensation altogether. “We looked up into his past a little however, and it would appear that during Institute years, Iltarel Jarad was accused by another student to have been coerced by him into bullying the young Glain Rokat,” he mentioned and went over the story involving poor Milas Divak, who had been forced to go through a holographic program designed by Iltarel with the sole intent of traumatizing him on the eve of the Assessment of Accession terminating the First Level.

“Of course, I would like to think as most do, that  _ these were Institute years _ ,” the Intern sighed, “but your earlier mention of this program in which a character took his own life makes me a bit worried…” he made an apologetic face. “I  _ truly _ hope that Iltarel Jarad has grown to be wiser…” he showed the PADD on which figured Milas Divak’s file. The thirteen-year old had a quite harmless look about him on the photo, with dreamy eyes and a faint-if-ever-smug smile. Next to his birthdate figured the date of his death, which would have had him die at the age of fifteen.

Dayar unwillingly looked at the PADD and the person reflected on it, then he shook his head.

“No, that is... someone must have... children are cruel, anyway,” he added, trying to gather as much protection against all of this as he could. “Did he die naturally or...?” he gesticulated to the boy and looked up at the man in front of him.

“I guess it depends what you consider a natural death,” Milas drew the PADD back. “He was disowned and died serving Cardassia. He’d opted to help scientific research,” he explain a little further and stared at the screen for a second. “Funny that his first name was Milas, like mine, but then again, it’s not the most uncommon name,” he shrugged. “But I hope that this might help you to better accept that, in a way, Iltarel might have been deserving of this stronger punishment, and should probably appreciate the justice in it. After all, it’s a rather small price to pay for the peace of his soul, and unlike the damage done to the His young Divak, the damage done to his body are fully reversible,” he beamed positively.

“But if Divak died serving Cardassia, then it means he lived a successful life, and if he lived a successful life in despite of what Iltarel  _ supposedly _ did to him, doesn’t that nullify whatever childhood cruelty there could be?” he wondered and put his cup down. “When I was ten, a classmate of mine got his cousins to beat me to the point where I nearly died – I loathed him for it until... until I forgave him, I suppose,” he paused and bit his lower lip. “Father didn’t even come to see me. I could’ve died. My spine had to be surgically treated and... I don’t know,” he shrugged and sipped his mug, “It didn’t strike me back then to think poorly of my father, but now, so many years later, it is my father whom I feel hurt by, not Kairr.”

Milas raised a finger and tapped his lips with it, thoughtfully considering the topic:

“I suppose that the stupidity of a child is easier to excuse than the insensitivity of a father,” he finally laid his diagnostic.

As sessions would go, Intern Milas Nilaran would eventually hold the boldness to place a request to get hold of Dayar’s case. Usually, when underlings asked for such a favor, there was a motivation backing up the zeal, and often, the intentions weren’t the best ones one could harbour. Doctor Menek was quite puzzled however – she knew of her underling’s obsessive consultation of Iltarel Jarad’s records; a closeness usually deserved by enemies – but as she went through the daily reports on Dayar Edar’s case, all she could see was care. At first, she’d thought that Nilaran would try to undermine the love between his patient and his nemesis, but it quickly appeared that Iltarel’s intersexism was being used to try and reconciliate the patient with his own body.

“You’ve done a most excellent work,” she concluded, raising her eyeridges at Nilaran, not hiding her surprise.

“I only did my best,” the young man replied in honesty. Then added: “I would like to be recommended to keep the case, if His Edar would favor me over his regular therapist.”

“Nilaran… Dayar Edar’s legal representant is  _ Chief Editor Demeny Edar _ ,” she warned again and he squinted in puzzlement. Then he got the innuendo.

“I would never do anything that could harm His young Edar!” he defended himself a bit hotly, somewhat offended.

“Are you trying to pair him up with  _ Conservator Glain Rokat _ , then? What’s your plan with all this?” Menek asked more directly, out of concern for both herself and Nilaran.

“I…” he considered the idea, “That’s actually a brilliant idea,” he realized in astonishment. “I had only planned to care for him so well that it would shame Iltarel, but that’s a lot smarter! Eight Lidek deserves a good mate, much more so than this bleached madman Jarad! Doctor, you are…” – she pinched her lips and he didn’t finish his sentence. But then she smiled and laughed.

“Nilaran, you are the most harmless little creature in all of Cardassia, aren’t you?” she grinned appreciatively. “I’ll recommend you. Warmly.”

At the end of Dayar’s week in detention would come the infamous interview of release – the moment at which patients were reviewed in the presence of their legal representants, to show their progress. If there was any sign that the therapy hadn’t yielded the conforming result… the patient was denied release and kept for a longer period, and so until they were cleansed of the thoughts and behaviors that earned them the stay in the first place. It was most always a stressful moment for all, but thankfully, Dayar Edar wasn’t going to be a misbehaving patient.

##  * * *

In the morning following Iltarel’s return from the hospital, at the Bureau of Alien Affairs, Sayad was laughing far too much for decency as she dragged Sokal out of their office and into the common room, where she’d summoned the others. She gestured at her assistant, and as the three other doctors couldn’t figure what exactly was so funny about him, she managed to utter “Tell again!” and Sokal sighed, bracing himself.

“As you know,” he faced Arkeny, Kelar and Crell Moset, “I had to go work at the Ministry yesterday,” he started, going to get some fishmilk while he was at it (and the others soon mimicked him).

“He had to wear the armor, oh, he was dashing in that,” Sayad gloated.

“The alien we were brought was a human male, middle-aged, Starfleet personnel off duty,” Sokal explained. “ _ Mailz Obrayen _ ,” he grunted the name.

“Starfleet?” Crell repeated, surprised.

“Yes, that’s a detail I could have used,” Sokal snorted. “The least I can say is that he wasn’t cooperative. He tried to run away, as if there were anywhere he could run to – he  _ attacked _ me!” he flailed and Sayad started laughing again.

“The details! The details!” she clapped her fingertips together.

“He punched the intern and I had to try and restrain him. And that’s when he attempted a headbutt,” he showed his sharp ridges. Crell grimaced.

“That must have hurt him more than it did you…”

“Why, indeed! He scratched his forehead and dizzied himself a bit, I believe. What an idea…” he rolled his eyes. “We were only just being done with the recording when Chief Archon Makbar came to see him. She was incensed to see him hurt – I did good to let the intern answer to her; he took the blame as a result and I believe he’s still standing guard duty by that cell,” he didn’t feel the least sorry for the poor sod and took a sip of his drink. “However, we have another problem. There’s another alien that’s coming, and while he’s apparently been recorded as an officer of the court some four-five years ago, he’s never been identified, because he had no teeth and was under ten.”

“If he was under ten, he wasn’t an adult by law,” Crell pointed. “And he had no teeth? What species was that?”

“A shapeshifter,” Sayad revealed with great amusement. “Apparently he’s some kind of gelatinous thing that Cardassia’s very own  _ Gul Skrain Dukat _ thought would be fit to work as Chief of security on Terok Nor’s Promenade,” she almost cackled. “The number of irregularities we come to learn of since the Withdrawal never ceases to increase, but  _ this one _ tops them all!”

“So, you mean  _ Odo _ is coming?” Crell interrupted, eyes shining. “Please, let me help,” he said and turned to Kovat, setting a vigorous hand on his shoulder. “You hear this Arkeny? A  _ real _ alien!” he grinned and got giddy, expanding: “This alien flask of goo was found by Gul Ocett – a wonderful scientist,” he slipped in the flattery. “I wanted to study it but Central Command decided that would be a waste of my time and instead appointed Pol to work on it – I mean, Doctor Mora – a Bajoran scientist I mentored for some time. Pol studied this unknown substance for some years and it turned out to be a sentient lifeform. A shapeshifter. Highly intelligent, and learning so fast about us,” he nodded. “I met him on some occasion, but that was before Gul Dukat had this idea, which, probably wasn’t entirely bad for Odo, as the lifeform came to be called.”

“So he’s really called  _ ‘Nothing’ _ ?” Sayad said and burst in laughter again.

“I think we could use your help, Doctor Moset,” Sokal agreed. “Kovat, you should come too.”

##  * * *

Later that day and further away in the city, a Federation runabout had landed in the Munda’ar Sector, although its occupant had already been beamed directly to the Ministry of Justice’s department of Identification. The shapeshifter appeared in the cell awaiting him, and the force fields were raised at once. On the other side stood the Notators, Sokal Dain and Arkeny Kovat, and the eminent Doctor Crell Moset.

“Look at him,” Crell cooed fondly, “he’s improved so much since I last saw him!” He stepped closer to the forcefield, smiling. “Hello, Odo. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I believe you have come of age for notation…”

Odo couldn’t remember agreeing to a beam-out, and as such, he was extremely vexed by the time he managed to turn around to see his abductors.

“ _ Moset _ ,” he curled with obvious disgust, “I should’ve expected you’d be here, like an arbazian vulture – I regret to inform you that I have  _ no  _ bones to pick.” Arms crossed over his chest, Odo looked very much like a vulture himself, smiling with the kind of humourless annoyance he’d come to ironically enjoy: “And no teeth to deliver to your Bureau of Identification, either.”

“I know,” Crell frowned ever so slightly, “that’s why we’ll need another type of sample. If you would please cooperate, it would be mostly appreciated,” he said and looked at Sokal. The Notator stepped forth.

“We have been informed that you are to be Mister Obrayen’s Nestor,” Sokal told formally. “Unfortunately, you aren’t _registered_ _correctly_ as officer of the court. You never were notated, and as such, you do not exist in the eyes of Cardassian justice, and you are not allowed to act as officer of the court, nor to see the client. Considering you have urgently come for this very purpose, we were expecting that you would dutifully cooperate in the identification process,” he explained. “Your acquaintance, Mister Obrayen, was… uncooperative. It would be best if you could show a better behavior. I believe the Archon would greatly appreciate this display of good faith,” he gave a toothy white smile. “We’ll need a retinal scan, a tooth and hair sample.”

Odo looked at the overly scaly Cardassian from under his brow, then he harrumphed and nodded.

“Well. Since you ask so kindly,” he nodded and smirked then reached his hand into his mouth, yanking a bit and withdrawing a slightly bloodied molar, “is this what you want?”

Kovat felt a bit lightheaded at that – the fact that the alien was a shapeshifter didn’t change the fact that  _ that _ must have hurt. Surely it must have hurt?

Sokal too stared a bit, then nodded and deactivated the forcefield to collect the tooth in the little sample box he’d prepared.

“Thank you,” he smiled pleasantly and addressed the computer: “Computer, prepare encoding file for shapeshifter alien, name: Odo Ital,” he called, then looked at Odo again. “If you would like to change your name, this would be the time to-” he interrupted himself as he realized the tooth had thawed into orange goo. Crell got a bit excited and approached, dragging Arkeny along.

“Isn’t it incredible?” he asked. “We tried to split Odo in two, to see if we could have him assume the form of two identical or dissimilar objects, but that didn’t work,” he told. “It’s still a bit of a mystery, but we could assume that his species doesn’t reproduce by division; although Pol still considers that it maybe requires some sort of sexual maturity, and that Odo is still too young for this. A pity. We thought he could have had a sibling or a friend if it had worked,” he sighed.

“But how are we going to get a sample then?” Sokal wondered.

Odo chuckled and reabsorbed the “tooth” into his hand. Oh, he could almost feel bad for that Notator.

“You won’t. And I think you’ll discover that I don’t have a retina to scan either, and that my hair is very much the same,” he told smugly, then sent the famed exobiologist a more sober glare. “I really don’t have time for these games of yours, Moset, so if you don’t mind...”

“Ah,” Crell tensed a little, “I guess we can’t hold you back so much then. Notator Dain, can you call the transfer service?” he asked and Sokal nodded, moving over to the console to send the signal. Crell gestured at the Constable to take position in the cell. “But Odo, tell me, please, have you seen Pol lately? Is he doing well? I hope he didn’t get into too much trouble with the provisional government…” he inquired.

To that, Odo simply huffed and defiantly looked in a different direction – no more conversations, especially not about Doctor Mora.

Crell sighed.

“Transporter ready,” Sokal signaled, smiling softly at the thought of Elem. “Energize,” he ordered suavely, and looked as Odo dematerialized. And rematerialized. “One entity here,” he signaled through the com system. “How is it on your side?”

“ _ Received _ ,” was the entirety of the answer.

Odo looked between Notator Dain and the comsystem with a growing feeling of premonition.

“Transport me,” he required hoarsely, “properly this time, please.”

At that, Kovat hid himself slightly behind Moset – anyone who was strong enough to pull out their own tooth, would surely be strong enough to be dangerous when aggravated. Sokal raised the forcefield first, as a precaution.

“You have been transported, Constable,” he answered. “Since we couldn’t keep a sample of you, we opted to make a duplicate. You’re the sample,” he informed him, trying to be tactful.

“You have a twin now!” Crell smiled brightly at the shapeshifter. “You won’t be alone anymore! Isn’t it what you wanted?”

Odo stared. Every fiber of his being was denying and denouncing what had just been said. What was worse, was that he knew perfectly well how possible it was, knowing the Cardassians. An angry roar escaped as he threw himself at the forcefield, and was subsequently shocked, both literally and figuratively – he’d wanted to shapeshift into a raging bear, but nothing had happened.

Desperately, he tried to shapeshift, if only just his fingers, his arms, anything – but to no avail.

“What have you done to me!?” he accused as he looked at Moset with a newfound layer of horror.

“What do you mean?” Crell inquired with slight worry, a hand on Arkeny’s shoulder to keep him reassured. That flailing of limbs was a rather odd behavior.

Odo thinned his eyes with a frustrated glare to the Cardassian – this wasn’t the time for playing stupid, he was  _ way _ past this level of fuckery.

“You know very well what I mean,” he wasn’t going to spell it out for him: truly, the humiliation was already bad enough without adding insult to injury.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Crell wet his lips, approaching closer to the forcefield. “Are you very upset to have been duplicated? Or is it the shock with the forcefield?” he questioned, his mind working fast.

At first, Odo said nothing, but retreated to the back of the cell.

“I don’t believe you,” he claimed starkly, “you’re trying to get me to talk – well, I’m not going to talk, so you may as well release me so I can do what I came here for.”

“You are already doing what you came here for,” Sokal said softly and addressed the comlink. “Cameras, please,” he required and turned on the room’s main display. There, the Order’s cameras displayed various angles of the room in which Miles O’Brien was being detained. Odo could be seen stepping into the cell and engaging in conversation with him once the intern on guard duty had reactivated the forcefield.

“ _ How have they treated you? _ ” they heard him ask.

“ _ Not so bad _ ,” the human sighed and sat. “ _ They did some dental work when I got here that wasn’t much fun _ ,” he mentioned.

“ _ All Cardassians are required to give the Bureau of Identification one of their first molars, _ ” Odo reckoned knowingly, “ _ It’s usually extracted at age ten. _ ” The other shook his head and changed topic.

“ _ Keiko, is she alright? _ ” he inquired about his wife.

“ _ She came with me, _ ” Odo answered, which threw the human into a slight panic at the thought of being seen like this by his beloved.

“You see,” Sokal said, “the other you is doing what he came here for…”

“No!” protested Odo and, with little else to do, he started to pace back and forth “It has to be some sort of trick – I know how you are, you could’ve easily made a holorecording. I do not believe it! You can’t trick me – and you,” he looked at Moset, “when Starfleet finds out...”

“They won’t,” informed Kovat, “because they don’t know you exist. Please, if you calm down, this will be much less stressful for everyone,” he tried to smile reassuringly, but it seemed that the shapeshifter wasn’t on a level where he could be reasoned with.

“Sokal, I want to take a hair sample from Odo,” Crell said with a very serious voice, eyes still intensely set on the shapeshifter. “I will require your assistance to hold him. Arkeny,” he turned to him, “bring the tools and deactivate the forcefield,” he gave him his orders.

Sokal diligently brought himself next to Moset and warned the specimen, “My scales are hard and sharp. Please, cooperate…”

Odo did his best to not cooperate – in the end, it took both Sokal and Arkeny to contain him and press him into the wall so he’d stay still.

“It makes you feel good, doesn’t it?” he barked at Moset who was nearing with his scissors, “It’s – it’s all you ever wanted to do, get your hands on more samples you can  _ play _ with? You...” he quieted, because he couldn’t find the words, and resorted to silent fuming.

“It never was a game, Odo,” Crell tried to be appeasing as he collected the sample and retreated from the cell, quickly followed by Arkeny, then Sokal once Arkeny was ready to reactivate the forcefield. “Cardassians don’t play,” Crell said with a tint of sadness. “And neither Pol nor myself ever drew pleasure from the pain we had to cause to our test subjects. It’s just how it is in Cardassia. We don’t have the means to do otherwise… Now tell me, Odo…” he looked as the hair sample in the box started to change state, “are you in pain, right now…?” he let worry show through his voice.

The sample hadn’t turned into goo yet. It seemed more like it was… rotting. Turning slimy and glueing itself together, flecking and darkening.

“This isn’t right…” Crell muttered. “This isn’t normal… Sokal, we’re going to need your wife in here,” he required before setting his eyes back on Odo and reiterating his question to him. “Are you in pain, Odo?”

Odo, with disheveled hair and a look of intense disapproval, was trying to regain his lost pride at the very farthest corner of the cell. Nearly huddling, as if that could somehow protect him.

“No,” he answered shortly. “Do you wish I were? Is that what it is? An attempt to find out what hurts me? I would’ve thought that through all those experiments, you would’ve learned  _ at least _ that.”

Crell gave the shapeshifter a sad look.

“Odo, you’re the one playing games right now. I know you’re still a child beyond those looks of yours, but now is the time to be adult and serious,” he said with serious himself, showing the box a little more. “We were hoping to get a perfect copy, a perfect duplicate of your very unique self. But I’m growing a suspicion that the copy wasn’t so perfect and… Are you capable of shifting shapes?” he asked while Sokal returned from the computer.

“Elem will be arriving soon,” he murmured discreetly and Crell nodded an acknowledgement, looking down the sample as it turned into black dust.

Odo sunk down to sit on the floor, leaning against the wall with his wrists on his knees. Somehow he knew that Moset was telling him the truth – incredible as it was, he could very well be a duplicate. And they could’ve very well made a poor enough job that he couldn’t even shift shapes. He harrumphed and rolled his eyes accordingly.

“That serves you right for trying,” he even managed a chuckle as he nodded slowly. “Congratulations, Doctor Moset, yet another  _ wonderful _ step forward for Cardassian science – tell me, what are you going to do? Showcase the amazing non-shapeshifting shapeshifter on prime time?”

“No,” he shook his head. “What will happen to you if you cannot shift shapes, Odo?” he asked again. “I’m afraid you will not be able to return to your liquid state, and that this impossibility will cause you to… die,” he requested a transparent container from Arkeny and poured the black powder in it. “I hope we can fix what went wrong before it’s too late…” And for this, they all needed Elem.

“I’m afraid  _ I _ can’t help you with that,” snarked Odo, trying to remember how long it was until he next needed to regenerate. Seven hours? “I think you’ve got about twelve hours,” he lied and looked at the black sand in the canister, shoulders slumping gradually. He really hoped, on a logical level, that the Cardassians would fail, because if they didn’t, he’d end up a threat to his other self.

“Twelve hours,” Crell nodded. “It’s a short notice, but we’ll do everything we can. Sokal, Arkeny,” he turned to them, “I want a full monitoring of Odo’s molecular structure. We’ll regularly take hair samples to see if there’s any sign of discrepancy over time. And we’re going to need a sample from the original, to check he wasn’t altered too.” He braced himself and looked at the doors. “I hope Elem can explain what went wrong…”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot the engineer could troubleshoot. Trying to replicate a Starfleet transporter accident with quickly-modified Cardassian technology had its limits, because the tech was simply different. She could eventually determine the likely cause of Odo’s condition, but she couldn’t find a way to reverse it. Not with the technology at hand, and not in such a short notice.

Moset understood and he felt sad.

“It’s not all bad, though,” observed Keledan, a scientist in dark grey garments. She was the overseer of the operation, and the technical difficulties had brought her into the room too. “We have enough data to conduct simulations, and with this mishap, we’ve learned a lot today…” she observed the tubes of dark powder that once contained living matter, “...that it can die, and we know how to kill it. We know how to make it suffer too,” she paced around the agonizing creature, ignoring the unease of her temporary colleagues. “Yes, that’s very good,” she nodded and smiled.

That was the strength of the Order: to look on the bright side of all things dark. All things, anything could come to use, one day or the other. Through the following days, Mailz Obrayen’s trial didn’t go as Central Command had hoped for, but it was no problem. The last part of the recording was never aired, so that Cardassia might never know that a sentence had been changed – as far as Cardassia knew, the court had done its job, and the broadcast ended shortly so the next program could start. It had been Conservator Kovat’s last appearance on prime time, but that only meant that younger Conservators could get their chance to shine. Chief Archon Makbar got away with her career bruised but alive still, and the good people of Cardassia were soon glad to get to watch more ordinary trials again.

And there was one to come in particular, one with one of those younger Conservators…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	39. V - Three quarters of appreciation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the last part of this fanfic~

 

# Part V

##    
Requiem

  


* * *

## Three quarters of appreciation

Living in Akleen had its up and downs. Enjam tried to be present (courtesy of Central Command and Gul Meret), and Delna was genuinely caring and helpful. Still, as weeks followed one another, Glain came to feel claustrophobic in the flat, however large it was. It wasn’t just the walls. It was the outside he yearned for, and not just as commuting to work at the Ministry.

Torr, Coranum, even Barvonok were the places he missed. He’d managed to see Siram once or twice, but that wasn’t enough either.

As it were, Glain needed to get away from what he knew. Fresh air. Novelty. Hope, maybe. Or a reminder that things could be different, in a better way. A dream to strive for, a dream that was someone else’s reality.

“I need to see people, meet new faces,” was what he’d told to Nardine, and much to his relief, his cousin had answered to his distress call (although Glain very much hoped it didn’t sound as distressed as he felt inside).

And so they set to meet in West Leskeman park, at the singing teahouse. It was a sweet place, with the tables out in the open garden, in a bit of a maze of flowered-walls with views on the artificial lake and the luxurious fountains decorating it. The water show there was always quite stunning, regularly updated with new patterns. At night, with lights, it was all the more beautiful. But night was still at bay, as the afternoon was only cracking into the hours of receding sun. Everything was still bright as day.

When Glain arrived, he noted his cousin wasn’t alone, and pulled a formal smile befitting his caring profession.

Nardine was tidy in her floral blue dress, a shade that matched the makeup of her chufa, and to an untrained eye, it might have looked like she was having a couple’s day out, what with her one female friend – dressed in a more ravaging red – and two elegantly posed gentlemen, who were poring over the menu while the ladies chatted peacefully over a glass of milky blue Kanar.

As soon as she caught sight of Glain, however, Nardine straightened up and waved him over, smiling widely as she gesticulated around.

“Heart-siblings who navigate under the same stars as us,” she explained in that cryptic language she’d used when she first met Glain after Liyara’s death – for a moment, Glain had been afraid she might be religious, but if Nardine had a creed, it was one devoted to inbred sexuality. Sparkling with joy, she laid a hand on her friend’s arm: “This is Tianda, my  _ highly _ -valued luzzur and assistant secretary –” the girl smiled a bit shyly and brushed her hand over Nardine’s.

“You make it sound more disorderly than it is,” she muttered with a blush, at which the other smirked.

“Hush, you – anyway, this is Emyr,” Nardine nodded to the young man closest to Glain, a neatly clad, short-but-sturdy man who filled out his earth-red costume extremely decently.

The day in honor, he had been bold and applied some green to his chufa (matching his eyes) – it was discrete enough that most people wouldn’t pay it much heed, but in the evening light’s show, he knew it’d sparkle like the water.

“He works in the same building as me, but on the floor below – statistics, something, wasn’t it?”

“ _ Top secret _ statistics,” he answered with a cheeky smile, his voice almost impossibly soft. Winking at Glain, he leaned closer: “I do commissions for Central Command from time to time, a bit of mathematical magic,” he wiggled his fingers, and Nardine nudged him under the table to shut him up.

“And this is Luyeour –” the other man raised a hand to, what it seemed, wave, but changed his mind halfway, and brushed a stray hair out of his face to set it behind his ear instead.

Compared to Emyr, he had a much softer face, almost feminine – but his eyes were starkly black and brought sharpness to all that smoothness, and there was something feline over his gaze.

“He doesn’t work in Barvonok at all, he’s a... a...”

“Medical Secretary and Administrator,” Luyeour informed and straightened himself up, looking at Glain. “I work under some of the brightest women Cardassia has to offer. Anyone else would be distracted by their charm. Pleased to meet you, Your young Rokat. Would you like to have a look in the menu?” he laid the PADD on the table, and slid it towards the newcomer.

“Thank you for the warm welcoming,” Glain answered with an almost shy softness.

It wasn’t usual for him to be slightly unsettled by a new meeting, but then again, he hadn’t expected men to be there, especially not the attractive sort who could, on top of that, be attracted back. Was Nardine trying to set him up? Or were those two together? If Enjam knew of this meeting, he’d disapprove strongly.

Dressed in formal dark and emerald, he nearly felt like a downer to the party. But his carefree days were to be left behind.

“I’ll start with a glass of cold fishmilk – my aunt-to-be’s putting me on a diet,” he added with a bit of humor, although it was true. An alcohol-free diet, to be specific.

“Cold fishmilk it is,” Nardine noted and picked the PADD to place the digital order. “I’ll toss in some fish crackers and seaweed snacks.”

“...And I suppose you already know I’m a Conservator,” Glain continued. “Admittedly, I’ve spent the past three years working as archivist at the Grand Military Central. It  _ was _ most interesting,” he let show a bit of a grin and glanced at Emyr: “Statistics and analysis were my strong suit, although my name never stood on any report I made in my superior’s stead.”

“All the better if things turn out un-Cardassian in the end,” Emyr agreed with a small headshake and a big smile. “Pray tell, do those talents come in useful when working as a Conservator?” he tilted his head sidewise and leaned forward to rest his head on his fist, much to the dismay of Luyeour, who knew a dick move when he saw one.

“They turn useful on any side of the courtroom,” Glain replied smoothly. “Is anyone bothering you?” he raised an eyeridge, suggesting he had the vesala to gather intelligence.

“Yes,” Luyeour answered just as Emyr opened his mouth, “but unfortunately it isn’t a crime to disrupt someone else’s social view – it’s merely _ impolite _ ,” he puffed himself up a bit, and Emyr cleared his throat and gave a disarming laughter, leaning back in his chair.

“It was not my intention to block the view, I got carried away by the topic itself... but no, to answer the question, no, I simply enjoy learning of the talents which inhabit others – though, now that you asked, if I were to be bothered, with which means would you save me, Your Rokat?”

“Call me Glain,” Glain chuckled to hide that it felt wrong to be called so properly in such a conversation – it made him feel like he was speaking in his father’s stead, and his father would never have ended up sitting at such a table to begin with. “And why, everybody’s done errors one day or the other. It can be good to remember that we’re all faillible and should all be as merciful as the court can be. To forgive is to protect, and to hold grudges can be a sure way to break one’s own neck,” he told with a gentler softness to his voice. “And you, Emyr? Would you save me?” he turned the tables.

Emyr wished he’d had a glass then, so he would’ve been able to sip it in an enigmatic way and answer ‘ _ name your payment, dear _ .’ Instead he had to be civil, even though his neckscales tingled a little.

“Oh, that depends,” he trailed off and wet his lower lip, “on what it is you wish me to save you from – financial stagnation? Payment plans? Loneliness?” he chuckled and folded his fingers under his chin, leaning so that he covered the view of Luyeour again. “Tell me what you fear, or else I can’t save you.”

“Now  _ that _ is strategical question,” Glain pointed – he wasn’t as stupid as to reveal something so sensitive to just anyone. “I have a personal accountant to watch over my finances and I believe I’m safe enough on that side. On a personal basis. But what does it mean to be financially safe when so many people aren’t?” he argued. “When we get a cold, we don’t say usually that we’re sick in the lungs; we say we’re sick. Is it pessimism? Fear? Or the consciousness that the wellness of our body must be whole…” he issued, moving just to glimpse at Luyeour, hoping to see medical and financial opinions battle a bit. He glanced at Tianda too, for she too could take part in the argument.

“But you do say you get a cold,” Luyeour swiftly argued, before Emyr could dart into some long-winded speech that not even the leaders of the Union could outbore them with, “and the reason you say it’s a cold, is because you don’t know which one of a myriad of diseases with similar symptoms it is that have struck you. All you know is that your main symptoms come from a specific area. That said, just because you think it is in the lungs, doesn’t mean it actually is where you’re sick – you might be allergic, in which case the illness is in your own immune system.”

Emyr crossed his arms over his chest and gave Luyeour an eyeroll for a look.

“I  _ think _ he meant it figuratively,” he said condescendingly, “and my answer would be that it’s perfectly normal for society to have economical diversity. To be financially stable is to be able to predict your societal future – and you need, of course, to include instability in your calculations. With the right approach, you can use their instability to strengthen your own. It all comes down to creativity.”

And with that, Glain’s glass of fishmilk arrived, as well as the bowl of snacks, from which Tianda took some to eat while she watched the men bicker – it wasn’t as amusing as watching women do the same, but she had to admit that there was a certain entertainment factor in watching the competition.

Glain hummed, welcoming his glass with thanks to Nardine.

“I’m certainly not opposed to diversity; it takes different budgets to create different things,” he agreed. “But there are some who thought it a good move to upset the right of equal opportunities, and while they fill Institutes with children and sponsored bastards who aren’t always all that bright, true sponsors are lacking for the brighter urchins of less fortunate families. And that, I call it an intellectual robbery, for we should all have the opportunity to give our best.”

He silenced to observe a little pinch in his heart, eyes dulling for a second.

“I care a lot for children,” he admitted but kept it at that. At least, it was easier not to ‘talk too much’ while being depressed.

Yet, it became obvious that the topic of children was a mutual spot of sensitivity, since the entire table fell silent momentarily, everyone looking in different directions.

Emyr’s drink – a cup with some sort of hot porridge – arrived, and he stirred it absently, all while Luyeour checked his PADD in a reflex to see if there were any work mail to distract himself with – there weren’t.

“A most... passionate speech,” Nardine commented at last, giving Glain a look of encouragement.

“But surely,” interjected Emyr, “since those families keep power, they are in themselves worthy of it, or else, would they not fail spectacularly and fall out of stature? As unfair as it is, we have gained our place in society and we owe it to our ancestors to keep the thrones they fought to put us on. The ones who crawl at the bottom, perhaps, they didn’t choose to be put there, but they  _ were _ put there.”

Luyeour bristled.

“That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he bit and grabbed a fish chip. “Have you seen some of the legates we’ve had lately? They could just as well be replaced with nothing, for all they don’t do in fear of losing that seat which they aren’t even doing anything with, anyway. Perhaps their ancestors deserved to be leaders, but them? They’re just snotty kids who inherited without understanding what it even means. I don’t think you can lead a society if you haven’t lived through every aspect of it first – now, that’s what defined their ancestors. But not them.”

Emyr snorted.

“You be careful, or the voles will be waiting under your bed when you come home,” he warned, still.

“If the voles wanted me, they would’ve taken me already for everything else,” Luyeour snapped back and bit on the crunchy snack. It was good to use frustration for destruction.

“I agree with him,” Glain raised his lips from his glass of milky salty water, “that’s why I’ve worked as archivist  _ and _ technical support,” he shared. “I’ve been around the Union to see that diversity you like,” he pointed at Emyr, “and I’ve shared the table of the poor and rich alike. What I can tell about the rich and mighty, is that their stability most often lies in the wits of their housekeepers and comfort workers of choice. And the day they stop listening to them is the day they fall. So really, they aren’t deserving of anything when they’re but a physical representation of their bank account and biological legacy. And it’s one thing to secure  _ yourself _ and your family, but what do you  _ give _ to Cardassia? What does it bring to us that the Temar family’s been holding a seat in the council for twelve generations if they don’t rule in favor of urban upgrades, art sponsoring, health planning, education sharing and family counseling?”

“If they’ve been in power for so long, that is a sign that they know how to maintain stability. Their wisdom might not be immediately obvious, but it would be arrogant to assume any of us know better, would it not?” Emyr looked at Luyeour, expecting opposition. “Of course, it’s easy for you to disagree with me, you do not know what it means to have a family whose name dates far back. I mean, it  _ is _ commendable that you are the highest establishment of your family, but if you compare that to me – and I’m by far one of the most mediocre in mine – I think that speak volumes of your frame of reference. You are lacking in experience. As for myself,” he looked to Glain, “are you suggesting I should bed someone wiser than myself in order to learn from them?”

Behind him, Luyeour took another fish crisp, inwardly fuming over his inevitable loss to the other’s vesala.

“Smaller and wiser… or bigger and influential,” Glain suggested and hid in a sip.

Emyr hummed in appreciation at the thought.

“Oh, with that logic, I’d win no matter who I laid with – high or low? Which do you prefer?”

Behind him, Luyeour choked on his cracker and turned away to hide an angry bush. On the other side, Nardine raised an eyeridge – Emyr was unusually forward, but then, he was also an opportunist, and he had it on his side that she’d told him how desperate a need Glain had. For company, though, not sex. She hadn’t explicitly said sex.

The young Conservator, on his behalf, couldn’t help but wonder if the way Emyr came off to him was the way he’d come off to Dayar ...and many other men before. If so, that really wasn’t flattering, and he could well see why Dayar was so swift to reject him.

He gave Emyr a meek smile.

“Which I prefer holds little importance when I’ve promised my uncle to stay abstinent until he sees fit to revoke his command. I’d be hard-pressed to break my word to a Glinn,” he stretched his lips in a sorrier smile, raising eyeridges in a rather cute expression. “My carefree days are done. It is time for me to serve my family, and the path I must walk doesn’t seem to allow much place for love and joy if I must be responsible and respectable. You wondered what I fear? I guess this is it. A loveless, joyless enjoinment, and having to play pretend within my own home,” he shared a bit of honesty so the other might not get his hopes so high. And it was always interesting to see how interested others kept… or not, when sex was removed from the list.

Glain’s eyes trailed to Luyour again, the silent one, and he glanced at the women too. If they’d expected an entertaining show, he was sorry to disappoint. Entertaining was something he really failed to be as of late. Perhaps because it was getting harder and harder to feel entertained himself, especially without the help of Kanar.

“My cousin’s loyalty to his word is commendable,” Nardine implied gently as a look of dislike crossed Emyr’s face.

“Surely,” he pressed anyway, “you, as a Conservator, must know that the best way never to break a promise is to not get in the position of making it in the first place? I hide from mine what I don’t want them to take from me. It’s why I picked this career – the scrutiny is lesser here,” he straightened up a bit and took a fish cracker, “When I-”

“-Glain Rokat,” Luyeour raised his voice, “is an only child – of birth, anyway – and from the looks of it, he  _ tried _ to keep to a calmer career-”

“-Oh, that’s right!” Emyr hooked up, not even glancing at Luyeour, “You were out of the screen for such a long time, were you not? Very smart,” he now congratulated Glain. “Why didn’t you keep on doing that?”

Luyeour, who was just about certain he’d just given the answer anyway, briefly looked like he wanted to die, then leaned across the table.

“I’ll go get something to drink, does anyone need anything?”

“Leaving in the middle of a conversation? That’s not very well mannered,” sniped Emyr, who was smug that his competitor was giving up.

“I already know what he’ll answer, and I’m thirsty. Any orders?”

“Kori balls would be kind,” Glain welcomed the offer and let Luyeour slither away with the women’s orders. “And hiding isn’t my style,” he answered. “If you think I hide, you’re sorely mistaken,” he raised his glass and took a sip.

That gave him the time to consider whether to expand or not, and he figured he didn’t need to. He kept more mysterious this way, and if the other had interest beyond flesh, he was free to dig later.

“So, Emyr,” he went on, “does money bring you all you dream of, or do you still have dreams of your own?” he asked quizzically, both as to lay an answer and change the topic.

“What my money brings, is a comfortable distance from my family. It’s easier to live freely without the head of family leaning over your shoulder all the time, nagging you to get enjoined,” he rolled his eyes, then lowered his voice: “and money can buy you infertility. I haven’t dared do it yet, but if there’s a sure way to avoid enjoinment, that would be it,” he took a deep breath and straightened up again, in posture and voice. “In finance, commitments that lack flexibility tend to lead to a downward graph. You have to be swift in mind and decision if you want to play the market. I believe, firmly, that the ways of the heart are just the same.”

Nardine didn’t seem to entirely approve of that, shaking her head with a meaningful look to her luzzur.

“And what of when you grow old? Without children to care for you, it won’t matter what money you have – sometimes, a short term loss is not a loss, but an investment in your future. I, for one, intend to set my seeds.”

Emyr chuckled at that and gesticulated at her with a confident look at Glain.

“Ah, women – always envisioning the order in the shadows, don’t you agree?”

“I agree, yes,” Glain nodded with a slight chuckle: “I agree with them. Maybe my grandfather was right. Maybe I’m a woman after all,” he jested although that wasn’t that much of a jest. “Children are the future. I’m not sure what there is to accomplish without them. You can enjoy the present all you want, you can shift digits on bank accounts, but there is no lasting purpose in the now. I find it a bit difficult to admire an action or a thought that won’t bring a lasting positive effect to our society, but maybe you have been too humble yet in your words to mention what it is exactly that you lobby for with this money, if not yourself,” Glain raised an eyeridge and sipped on his glass.

At least, this kind of phrasing usually amused women. Luyeour, who had returned with a tray, didn’t seem entirely as amused however, but didn’t get a chance to speak yet.

“I’m not responsible for any family accounts, Your Rokat. I don’t know how you do it in your family, but in mine, winnings go to the family, and the individual gets to keep what they need to live a decent life,” he chuckled a bit. “The only way to get more, would be to swindle your own – and that far, however, I wouldn’t be willing to go.”

“I know of several men who were supposed to be women,” Luyeour interjected at last, “I think you’ll find them in surprisingly high numbers if you look at classes graduating in the medical field. In my Institute years alone, there were seven of them – I only have contact with two of them. The rest... most of them are dead,” he cleared his throat. “So it is not a laughing matter – and you should be grateful you do not have the condition,” he gave Glain a sober look and placed his plate of kori balls in front of him.

“Been keeping statistics, have you?” Emyr observed smugly. “Studying the illness, are you?”

At that, Luyeour snorted softly through the nose.

“No, it’s just personal observation. One that is supported by scientific discoveries – yes, I do stay updated on the subject. I just don’t want to take the risk of involving myself in official matters,” he puffed himself and served the women their plates of food, and lastly a large glass of blue Kanar for himself.

“Too bad, I am sure your genius insight would’ve been much appreciated,” said Emyr, in a way that was most certainly not flattery.

Luyeour shrugged.

“Personally, I don’t think it would’ve made much difference: the professors working on it are very competent.”

“I would be interested in your statistics,” Glain straightened up and even leaned forth a bit toward Luyeour. “It’s no joking topic, nor was I joking,” he told more seriously. “One of my dearest Institute friends was born with this condition,” he shared more softly. “He helped me greatly back then, then disappeared. He… he slipped in the Gebalt Hill after a rainy day. He was enjoined with another friend of our group. He was pregnant too… And now, another friend of mine has laid his feelings on another such person, and I dread to see them hurt. So does my brother in alliance – he’s a Notator,” he mentioned Sokal. “What if our support isn’t enough?” he shared his worry, hoping the medical secretary might have answers.

Luyeour didn’t have a good answer to that however, and settled on giving Glain a sorry smile.

“A legitimate worry,” he acknowledged. “I think the only thing you can do, really, is to prepare yourself for the worst, fully acknowledge that if something were to happen, it wouldn’t be your fault. That said, I believe you should live as though the best will happen – there are dire stories, but also bright ones. I could, maybe, let you meet some of my friends? I am not an expert; perhaps it would calm you better to learn from those who experience the condition first hand?”

Emyr clapped his hands together to that.

“You should set a date already – it would be a shame to waste the rest of this wonderful evening dwelling on depressive topics. I mean,” he gave Glain an inquisitive look, “I  _ was _ under the impression that you came here to have a good time? Let’s fill our ears with joy and musings! I hear they’re going to do a re-run of the playwright of  _ The Never Ending Sacrifice _ in the plaza in Torr in some weeks, perhaps we should endeavour to go, all four of us?”

“I hate that book,” Luyeour shared in an un-Cardassian manner, throwing himself back in the chair with an expression of pre-determined boredom.

Nardine shook her head with a wry expression.

“The play has its own twist, I think it’s a bit amusing,” she admitted, squeezing her sweetheart’s arm, “but I already arranged for a private occasion to see it, so I’ll have to opt out.”

“So do I,” her luzzur agreed, “but the three of you could surely go-”

“-Two,” Luyeour bargained. “If I have to as much as hear about that neverending  _ story _ , I think I’ll be sick.”

“That’s because you’re guilty you didn’t follow in your parents’ footsteps,” Emyr accused. “How many generations of pharmacists have you left behind you? He would’ve inherited the family business,” he told Glain before the answer could be uttered, “instead, he went on to work all the way away in Culat. After all that money his parents sunk into his admission fee! Now they have to scram to breed a new baby to get an heir and all –  _ I  _ think he’s just a bit guilty, that he’s the one that might kill his family legacy.”

Luyeour was getting a bit dark in the face, hands clenching and unclenching under the table.

“Selling drugs in Torr, where no one can afford them anyway – no offense to my parents, but that’s not a good job,” he cleared his throat and looked at Nardine. “I am very sorry, this has been a lovely evening, but I have books I’d much rather read – so if it’s all the same to all of you...”

“Please,” Glain interrupted, nearly trying to get up, “stay.”

The look in his eyes was begging. He didn’t exactly want to be left practically alone with Emyr, and his attempted movement had triggered one of those violent pains in his guts, which he tried to conceal as best as he could.

“...Or at least, don’t leave without sharing contacts,” he bargained and tried to fish his PADD, struggling a bit to remember where was the pocket in his current outfit. “I hate that book too,” he added. “The writing is rather obscene and the story only bears worth through the essays that were written about it – essays which are a lot more entertaining to read than the book itself,” he shared his opinion, finally getting to his PADD. “There’s more to be found in data about the readers than into the book itself,” he smiled weakly.

Nardine grinned at that.

“This must be one of my most un-Cardassian evenings out in awhile, I  _ like _ it,” she mused and laid an arm around Tianda.

Luyeour gave Glain a weak smile of appreciation and nodded.

“I guess I can stay a little longer,” he agreed more calmly, swallowing some of his pride. “I take it you’re referring to, mayhaps, a very specific essay?”

“This  _ is _ one of the most un-Cardassian conversations I’ve had since last time I had one,” Emyr cut, looking between Glain and Luyeour, leaning back a bit so he could address both at the same time, “please, do carry on your disorderly conversation, I was just starting to enjoy myself...”

“Oh, everyone knows you like to watch,” snarked Luyeour, whose patience had been worn thin with each drip hitting the stone.

Emyr adopted an outraged expression of disbelief.

“Luyeour!” he burst as to defend himself.

“True, though,” Tianda agreed, “rumors go around...”

“How can you commit murder on my reputation in pure daylight?” Emyr wondered as if he had witnessed something unfathomable.

Tianda smiled, and made sure it was with teeth.

“Sunset,” she said and pointed to the colorful sky, “better be careful, or your shadow will pop up and betray everything you wish to keep to yourself.”

Glain watched and nibbled on a kori ball, slightly amused.

“The one who has a lot grows the fear to lose where the one who has little grows the hope of getting some,” he murmured. “Are you afraid of the Dark, Emyr?” he teased. “They say, the larger the vault, the more voles try to get in, and you do sound like you have a rather big one. Or does he?” he figured he could ask Luyeour instead, smiling at the secretary with empathy and kinship in his eyes.

Emyr looked meaningfully at Luyeour who nodded, without looking at him.

“Depends on what you compare to. He’s got more than I’ll ever have, but then, that doesn’t say much, really...” he trailed off, and Emyr kicked him a little under the table.

“Only because my family would get paranoid if I wasn’t saving for my ’future family’ as they call it,” he grinned in a rather charming way. “I imagine I’ll be saving for a very long time indeed.”

Glain chuckled and sighed.

“The day you find yourself to have turned infertile, that could be a lot of money with which you could sponsor the children of others. If I had money and no children of mine, that’s what I’d do with it,” he hummed with the conscious knowledge that it was exactly what he’d done for Tilayan, that day. Grim thought. Not best dwell on it.

“Aren’t you awfully quiet, you two?” he opted to look at the women. “I hope we’re not boring you…” he looked at Nardine with uncertainty. Himself was a bit bored if not annoyed by Emyr’s constant getting in the way of more interesting conversation with Luyeour.

Nardine held up a hand to deflect the question, munching on her pasta-strings. After swallowing, she shook her head, her hair bobbing with the movement.

“My apologies, we were gazing at each other’s stars, so to speak. Selfish of us – what were we talking about? Money?” she rolled her eyes a little, “Too much like work. Why don’t we play a little game instead? Hm?” she tapped her fingertips together. “The first person to have the word, will select one of the others to ask them a question. The first person has to answer the question – make up a lie, if you have to, as long as it’s interesting. And once the question is answered, the person who got to ask selects the person to ask them – and so on. Just make sure the word is passed around. Anyone wants to start?” she raised her eyeridges with amusement.

“I can start,” Luyeour decided, with a bit of surprise, as he had expected Emyr to leap at the chance. He’d expected not to get the actual role, and so, when everyone else’s eyes landed on him, he cleared his throat and, “Well, I’ll pick the one who knows the least of me – Glain.”

Although the picking was the most logical choice in this configuration, Glain still blushed a little, as if he were surprised (which surprised him for real in turn). Was he really  _ that _ desperate to be seen, liked, endorsed or whatever it was? Was it why he was having all those cute expressions and reactions to others? But those were questions for him, and he wasn’t the target, currently.

“In which way do you prefer to meet with people you appreciate?” he asked, which spared him having to choose between “are you often in Lakat?” or “are you opposed to keeping contact on the distance with messaging and calling?”

Nardine’s mouth pulled into a big grin as she realized the implications, and Emyr kept a poker face. Luyeour, however, seemed to miss the implications, either that, or he was calm about it.

“Visiting public points of interest together with those I appreciate is nice: I especially like museums, where we can learn from each other’s viewpoints on what’s on display,” he blushed a little at that, though he blamed it on the Kanar, and decided to be unphased, smiling because he was friendly, nothing else. Certainly not because the idea of going on such a trip with Glain wasn’t entirely uninteresting. At least, it was destined to be more interesting than sitting there, with Emyr blocking the view most of the time. “I guess, that makes it your turn, if my answer is to your liking?”

“It is to my liking,” Glain reckoned with a nod and raised his glass, taking a sip and reviewing the candidates. His eyes set on Emyr. Then shifted to Nardine right as he opened his mouth, “Cousin, your turn.”

The choice was unexpected, which was pleasant in its own right, and Nardine straightened up on her chair.

“Ah, a most unwise choice!” she said in her best impersonation of her own mother, “Hmm, what should I ask you...” she tapped a finger over her lips thoughtfully, nodded to herself and then decided: “Who is the last person you kissed on the lips?”

“Iltarel,” Glain smiled in sweet reminiscence. “Iltarel Jarad. It feels like an eternity,” he sighed. He truly missed his luzzur. It’d been too long since they last met, but Glain understood that his proximity wasn’t welcome. It hurt, but it was how it was. “Is it enough of an answer?” he rested green eyes on his cousin. Beyond the apparent calm laid sadness.

Nardine pursed her lips and contemplated, then she figured that  _ that _ answer opened up for a lot of questions-to-be, and decided that yes, she was satisfied.

“Emyr,” she pointed at him, “ask away.”

Then she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest like a challenge. The other gave a thoughtful hum.

“I know so much about you already,” he pointed, “but I’ll humour us all, I suppose – why did you decide to invite me in particular? Out of everyone you know?”

“Ha!” burst Nardine and she pointed to him again, “Wrong question. The answer won’t satisfy you – but I’ll be kind and deliver it anyway. You are lonely,” she grinned. “Yes, don’t look so surprised – you’re lonely, and you know it. You’re scared of the loneliness you feel is encroaching on you. The older you get, the more obvious the lack of a wife, of a steady partner... You’re scared you’ll end up alone and unloved. That, and I wanted to see you use the green makeup I got you for your birthday.”

Emyr, who had an expression of sceptical dislike on his face, realizing that he’d played himself, huffed with a headshake.

“Interesting musings, misguided as they are,” he refracted, then shook himself. “Glain, how about you ask me something?”

As could be expected. Glain smiled and leaned forward, slowly resting an elbow on the table to get closer and comfortably observe the other in a behavior that quite suddenly exhaled of sensuality.

“How much do you like to have sex?” he asked in a single breath, almost like an invitation. “Is it the more you can get or more…” he frowned as he searched for the fitting word, “sparing,” he chose, since the other was in finance.

Tianda made wide eyes at the topic, and had to be patted back into reality by Nardine’s hand. Meanwhile Emyr’s neck got hot, as did his lips, and other parts that he rather wished would be calmer.

“What kind of person doesn’t like to have sex?” he counter-asked, blissfully aware of the fact that behind him, Luyeour had to bite his left hand not to burst out laughing at his discomfort. “I-I mean, of course I like sex, that’s the entire point of sex, isn’t it? Would you like me to show you?” he asked at last, forgetting about the rules of the game.

Glain chuckled, giggled even – a sound that hadn’t left him in quite a while.

“I hadn’t taken you for a prude!” he grinned wild, “You could use hanging around my housekeeper, that’d cure you within a week,” he teased. “I’ll help you,” he got a bit more enthused. “I like sex, it’s like an anchor to senses and an escape from time and space, and at times… I’ve had enough of it to forget my own name and all the troubles attached to it,” he smiled more restfully. “Can you imagine how much that might be?” he raised an eyeridge, delighting greatly in the torment he inflicted. Because he was a little sadist, yes.

Emyr wasn’t the only one tormented, Luyeour found himself taking collateral damage, and had to cross his legs and shuffle his scarf to cover more of his neck, for decency’s sake.

“I’ve had a lot of sex too,” Emyr admitted after a while of awkward silence, “but never so much that it lost its meaning to me. Everyone’s worthy of their own definition of sex. But yes, I too have been generous with what I give.” Then he sighed, “I believe, I believe I don’t remember whose turn it is to-”

“-It’s Glain’s turn, he has to pick someone,” Nardine said through a mouthful of pasta, “Go ahead, cousin, dear.” Oh,  _ she _ was enjoying herself.

Glain gave a malicious look to Luyeour before looking at Tianda.

“You’ve been the most silent and discreet,” he made sure to check that she was still in the game.

Tianda smiled shyly and cleared her throat, which was quite hoarse at that point.

“Yes, I’m sorry-” she cleared her throat again and blew some air through her lips, “When...  _ how _ did you first figure out you were like this? I mean – like us?” she smiled nervously. “I’m not very good at this game.”

“Good one, though,” Nardine appreciated and patted her shoulder.

“Hm…” Glain wondered whether to tell the truth or not, then nodded. “Might have been when Delna and her friends invited me and some other boys to attend a ball at the Mikartan Institute of Medicine. We had to train ourselves in dancing, and I found a special delight in doing so with males. One of them was especially talented and took my breath away,” he opted to indulge in that sweeter memory of him and Iltarel. They didn’t know then, no. They had no idea of what chemistry was going on between them.

“Such a sweet memory!” Tianda burst, then realized it was her turn to pick someone and looked between them all. “Um... I guess I can pick Luyeour. I know so much about Nardine and it’s been a while since he had the word. So.”

He nodded in his scarf and tried to concentrate on not being disturbed by the aftershock of all the sex talk.

“How did you get that dress?” he decided, which caused her to look at him with a bit of bewilderment.

“Oh,” she realized, looking down at the garment, “it was a gift, actually. From my husband,” she added and pinched the fabric. “He’s got a good eye for dresses – he took me to a tailor to get it fitted. I think he wishes he were one himself. A tailor, I mean.”

“Good enough answer for me,” Luyeour accepted and he bolstered himself some more in his scarf. “I’ll appoint Glain.” He hoped he wouldn’t get any scary questions about sex, however.

“Is there a museum, aquarium or other point of interest you’ve always wanted to visit in Lakat?” Glain asked smoothly.

The only one who had expected that question less than Luyeour, was Emyr. When and how he had been surpassed in the competition, he didn’t even comprehend. He – he was  _ losing? _

“Oh, in Lakat?” Luyeour cleared his throat. “I suppose, anything, really – I hear they’ve got an amusement park, but I think maybe I’m too old for that. There’s always the zoo, I hear it’s informative – we never went on trips when I grew up,” he explained, “we had to save for the Institute admission, and then, when that was done, I came out on the other side – an adult, and you know what it’s like to be an adult...” he smiled at the bittersweetness. “Freedom for a child is somehow so much cheaper for an adult, but once you’re an adult, it feels way too expensive. I wonder why that is so?”

“Because you are poor,” Emyr snapped at him, hoping to regain his position. “I mean, for a member of your family, you’re well off, but for being an adult, you’re poor. Just saying – he doesn’t have much at all in his bank,” he told Glain, which gained him a whack on the shoulder – “Ouch!”

“Boys,” commanded Nardine’s voice, “I don’t want either of you to be hauled off by peacekeepers.”

Glain couldn’t help a bit of cunning amusement. Emyr’s bank account seemed very much at reach, which was always tempting because Glain liked gifts.

“That was very out of turn,” he commented, somewhat sententiously so. “I was considering to give you the word, but since you are so prolific already, maybe I should give it to someone else,” he threatened, raising an eyeridge and observing. “But then, unlike my cousin’s mother, I’m no Archon. I’m a Conservator and it is in my nature to forgive,” he softened a bit dramatically, playing games of eloquence. “Your turn Emyr, the question better be good,” he nodded at him but held his hand, “but first,” he turned back to Luyeour, “I don’t believe there’s much of an age restriction for amusement parks; for all is known, prospective fathers-to-be might need to test out such places before opting to take their family there, the day they hopefully get one. It’s a good excuse as any. But a more educational experience might be easier, I guess,” Glain reckoned and looked at Emyr again. “Now you can ask,” he allowed, a cheekier glimmer in his eyes shining like a promise that all wasn’t lost yet. And it was a bit strange, because as much as Glain usually enjoyed being fought over, this time, he mostly cared to entertain the candidates. Maybe because that entertainment might be all they’d get from him, courtesy of Enjam.

Emyr considered his turn thoughtfully, then looked at Glain with eyes darkened by interest.

“How long do you think you’ll manage to stay loyal to the promise of abstinence?”

He was about certain there wouldn’t be a good answer, but the question was a tease in its own right.

“Do I sense personal interest?” Glain humored him and leaned back in his chair, thinking. “I intend to stay loyal, in my best interest,” he decided to go for honesty. “Life has been rough on me, and I’ve relied on ‘coping mechanisms’ as one of my friends, who is versed in psychology, calls those behaviors. They carried me, I carried on, but now, time has come to rid myself of those wheels and walk on my own again. And learn to rely on those around me whose support I can trust,” he explained. “And I sincerely hope to get clean: rediscover the man I grew up to be, the one I am inside… Then, then only will it be wise to indulge again, and I hold the hope that such moments will be all the deeper and tender. If I indulged you now,” he pointed his glass at Emyr, “you’d enjoy it a lot, but you’ll never know who you laid with, I promise. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

Emyr snorted softly.

“I believe you. But it  _ is _ a shame – all this negativity about sex in particular has such an adverse effect on the way we view ourselves, how we function. Why, why should shallow sex be any more deplorable than shallow conversation? The latter we have all the time, and it’s considered Cardassian and even an essential skill for normal social behaviors! But, do forgive me my tangent,” he held up a hand to Glain and blinked in apology, “I have been shamed for long enough to fall easily into emotion. If it is how you wish to live, then by all means... but think carefully, Glain Rokat. If your doing this leads you to adopt a negative vision of those of us who choose  _ not _ to cut that piece of ourselves off in order to walk with the rest of our kin, then what good is it?” he held his pinky out as he took his mug and lifted it, pursed his lips, then grinned: “Luyeour, you’re next. Why don’t you ask me what’s on your little heart?” he closed his eyes sweetly and sipped.

Luyeour, who hadn’t expected to be given the opportunity, sat frozen in his seat. Truly, he’d rarely been this uncomfortable. There were so many things he wished he knew, so many questions he wanted to ask – none of them in front of strangers, however. Finally, he made the expression of someone who had tasted poison.

“I don’t have a question,” he answered coldly, “I don’t want to know anything about you.”

“Ha!” burst Emyr and he leaned to Glain with a serious expression, “See, that’s the typical answer of someone whose questions are of a kind that would give away too much of himself.”

“Emyr...” it was Nardine, her voice meaningful, but she wasn’t yet going to boot him out. He hadn’t crossed the line sufficiently to warrant exile from the place.

“I find no shame in his behavior though, nor flaw,” Glain answered and looked at Luyeour. “To know one’s limits is valuable. But how shall we continue then? I’m not opposed to furthering that debate about sexuality and shame,” he returned his calm gaze to Emyr. “You seem like an expert in both, while I am much more familiar with the former than the latter. Just because I take a break to reorder my files doesn’t mean I’m quitting anything,” he said and took a deeper breath. “Maybe you’re the one who fears he’d no longer belong in this kin, were you to stop having sex for a moment. An understandable dread when so much of your life hinges on this identity. But aren’t we more than what we do? Please, Emyr, don’t judge my will by the number of nights I spend slithering scales against scales. I’m too hopeless for my ‘confusion’ to ever get ‘cured’, and I don’t think poorly of anyone. Not even you,” he assured, setting a hand on the other’s. Emyr’s was much larger and Glain smiled something sweet and a bit smug. “I don’t think we’re entirely different.”

Luyeour was relieved not to be shamed, and reclined back in his chair. Emyr however, laid his other hand on Glain’s.

“Perhaps we are not,” he agreed with a wink, “and if we keep in touch, I promise I’ll try my best not to tempt you too much. Going to be hard, though, with this neck,” he gesticulated to himself shamelessly, then burst into a chuckle: “But, I think we should continue the game, after all, far be it from me to disappoint poor Nardine, after all the effort she went through to get us here – you still  _ have _ to ask me a question, Luyeour,” he turned to the other with a sweet expression, “Just make it a useless one, if you don’t want to ask any important ones.”

“Why do you want me to ask you a question?” seethed Luyeour and he then added: “And that  _ is _ my question. I don’t really care about the answer, I just want you to think about it,” he lifted his glass of Kanar, looked Emyr dead in the eye, and drank from his glass.

The other had not expected the counter.

“Uh,” he fumbled for words, “because I know you’re wondering things?”

“Not satisfactory,” determined Luyeour. “Try again. For Nardine’s sake.”

Emyr smiled and laughed nervously, sending the others a look of ‘ _ now it’s getting ridiculous _ .’ Nardine, though, shrugged.

“It’s part of the game,” she clarified calmly. Emyr winced.

“Because I wanted to give you an opportunity to ask me one of those things you never dared to ask?” he tried again.

Luyeour laughed emptily and set his glass back on the table.

“Oh, please, if that was an attempt at lying, it has to be your worst yet – don’t patronize me, Emyr. Answer the question. Better this time,” he leaned an elbow on the table and set his chin on his fist. “Just say that you don’t want to answer,” he told with a shrug, “I’ll let you go if you do...”

“Because you’re my friend!” burst Emyr in frustration, “I can’t just not talk to you!”

Luyeour heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes.

“That is also a really bad lie,” he determined, though his voiced was a bit more strangled this time.

“Oh, come on Leyour...”

“You’re curious,” he countered the other, “you’re the one who has questions to ask that you don’t dare ask. And to humour you, I’m going to answer to them –  _ no _ , to  _ all  _ of them,” then he grabbed his glass and emptied it.

Emyr knew several witty comebacks, but also knew that wit wasn’t going to save him now, so he remained silent.

“Glain, ask me a question,” Luyeour encouraged as to get away from this topic.

The Conservator took a few seconds to observe the two men. It was an interesting exchange that had been there, and the question Glain had was one requiring tact and softness. Leaning forth, he entwined his fingers and rested his forearms on the table’s edge, looking at the cute secretary as if he were about to ask for a confession.

“Leyour…” he repeated the sweet pet name as if he were handling a beautiful and fragile butterfly, “what was it that seduced you and came amiss?” he asked, and specified, “With him,” with a glance at Emyr.

Luyeour took a deep breath then clamped his lips together and held the air in his lungs. Thinking was easier with that pressure against the inside of his ribs.

“His confidence. His knowledge, his way of navigating people, his vesala, his expertise in speaking to strangers,” he looked at Emyr, dislike flickering over his face, “his lightheartedness and willingness. Those things seduced me,” he looked at Glain, “ _ and _ repelled me, in the end.”

Emyr snorted, though his neck had gotten a bit hot.

“A good lie,” he shared as a verdict.

Luyeour kicked back in his seat and demonstratively refilled his glass of Kanar.

“Just because I leave out the indecent details, doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. I essence,” he inclined his head, “and anyway,  _ you _ know I can’t lie when I’m on alcohol, anyway.”

Glain could sense the truth as much.

“I believe him,” he approved. “And I can relate to that disgruntling confusion, when you realize your assets are turning against you,” he added, letting his gaze trail into the distance and turn more remote. “It is a sad thing… to fail to shed, and nobody is ever going to stay with a molt, even if it is that of the person they first fell for,” he nodded slowly. “We must grow into ourselves, let go of the scales we’ve outgrown even if they served us well,” was his verdict.

“Bah,” rejected Emyr and he shook his head, “I’m not going to change who I am, nor do I expect anyone to change themselves for me. If I can’t be loved for me, then I am, simple and plain, not loved at all.” He was getting tense now, writhing uncomfortably in his seat: “Besides, it’s not really what happened. He cheated on me,” he straightened up, and Luyeour barely reacted at all. “I caught him in the bed of a good friend – quite a spectacular way to lose  _ two _ friends in just one second,” he reckoned and crossed his arms over his chest.

Luyeour neither demented nor approved this version of the truth, much to Nardine’s curiosity.

“Cheating isn’t the worst thing, though,” Glain mused thoughtfully, thinking of Iltarel. “I don’t mind,” he resolved. “I’m not as greedy as to want someone for myself only. In fact, I’ve always thought I’d have to share – probably a natural thing to think when you’re already the one laying with committed men,” he tilted his head a bit and took a sip, imagining his drink contained Kanar to make up for the lack of it. “There must have been something else, though?” he asked Emyr. “If you truly loved him and truly loved your friend, you would have welcomed the sight,” he argued. “I had a dream in which such a thing happened, and it was a nightmare, because I was  _ left out _ . You  _ are _ afraid of being alone, aren’t you? Afraid of losing entirely what you have if you share it. Like that money you stock up. I’ve heard of it,” he gave a quick nod and straightened against the back of his chair, “hoarding disorder, it’s called. It’s actually extremely common, especially in the upper class.”

“Oooh, no,” Emyr shook a finger at Glain, “there is a difference between going behind someone’s back, lying to their face, and simply having more than one lover. One is deceit, the other is... is something else. The other I can live with. But the lies?” he glared sidewise at Luyeour, who evaded eye contact, “Why the lies?”

“We both know that our separate love lives had nothing to do with the break-up,” Luyeour tiredly answered, “We cheated on each other regularly – it  _ was _ a game, and we  _ both _ indulged in it; it was never trickery. It was never a threat to our relationship; it was part of it – but it’s convenient to pretend such now that it helps you play the role of the victim.”

He looked back at Emyr, cold dislike written all over his face.

“Now, see, the truth,” he jabbed, an unsteady finger in the air (courtesy of the Kanar), “the truth is, that you stole from me. I was given those research notes in strict confidence, and you stole them, and you put the product on the market, and you claimed the patent and you dragged my believability in the mud – no one in the team returns my calls anymore. All because of you,” he retrieved his hand and looked at his Kanar, “and because of me. For being foolish enough to think that you had even a shred of decency.”

Emyr, who had been a bit shocked all through it, let out a small laughter at the end.

“Yes, that truly was your fault, though,” he pointed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Juicy,” Nardine remarked with poorly hidden delight.

Glain however stared at Emyr with complete astoundment.

“By the State… You did what? You…” he was getting a bit giddy with excitement, “you know that counts as a crime of ingratitude, do you? Mercantile trickery, moreover, and stain to the reputation,” he added up. “Glorious Cardassia, how good for you that I’m not an Archon, but, my dear, with such an action, it’s no wonder at all you’re on your own. That is indeed very unattractive. But should you know, one can always repent. Confession is good for the soul, Emyr, and for the love life,” he told dramatically. “If you ever consider it, please, do let me be your Conservator. We can plan it out to reach workable sentences. It might do you a great good, and it would be such an uplifting trial as well – there’s nothing more beautiful than a spontaneous confession,” he smiled with faith.

“Me?!” Emyr flailed an arm in Luyeour’s direction, making him flinch, “It was him! He left the PADD in the open-”

“-In the privacy of my home!”

“To which I have –  _ had _ – the access code! Truly, I only did what anyone with any opportunistic trait would have – I also needed to read something. He was taking forever in the shower – and so what if I drew some inspiration from what I read? Subconsciously using it to licence a new product... it’s not the first time inspiration strikes from unexpected sources.” He paid Glain his sweetest smile: “I have nothing to confess, Conservator. Nothing at all. The crime is all Luyeour’s – he shouldn’t have left confidential documents where he knew others might be. If I go to a trial, so does he,” Emyr chuckled and relaxed in his seat.

Luyeour had paled and both looked and felt sick.

“I knew this was a good idea,” Nardine burst at last, clapping her hands together with a big smile. “Truly Cousin,” she looked to Glain with astoundment, “you are a natural. I can see why my aunt fell for your father – such a talent for the Conservator role!”

“Oh, don’t tell me, tell my father, rather,” Glain gave a meeker smile, “ _ He _ is the one who’d need to hear such words. But truly, there is good matter for a trial here, and I could use such a challenge. In fact, I think all three of us could use this. Believe me, we’ll all get something good out of it. I know that going to court is scary for everybody – I’d know,”  he placed a hand on his heart, “I’ve been there as convict, as Youth’s Nestor, as witness, as Conservator… I haven’t been there as family yet. And the role of Archon is out of my league,” he joked a little. “It can be scary, yes. But it can also be a great moment to reclaim your life, and when the Conservator is a friend, you know you are safe,” he assured. “In the end, you’ll be thanking yourselves. The past will be behind you, your reputations will both be restored, and the future will be brighter than ever. You’ll bloom into the persons you are meant to be, held by Cardassia’s caring hands and set into motion with a footing more secure and confident than ever. Enemies will be none left, for no man is more impressive than the one who steps out of court,” he finished his praise with elegance and humility.

Emyr was silent for a while, all emotions gone from his face – until his eyes found Nardine, and he pointed a long arm at her.

“You set me up!” he got from his seat so hastily that the chair tipped over, “All of this, the invitation, your lies that you invited  _ everyone _ and just by  _ pure coincidence  _ only I and Luyeour came here-”

She lifted her hands and waved them a bit in the air like wings.

“Surprise!” Not that it was true, but now that it made her look smart in front of Tianda, she didn’t mind riding along with it.

“Selling me out just because he’s family – I can’t believe this. You’re  _ not _ welcome in my areas anymore,” he shook his head at her, then turned, kicked the chair away, and walked off, leaving them to mull over what they’d just done to him.

Luyeour said nothing; he hadn’t even dared to breathe too much.

“What a pity!” Glain shot at him, “I was going to propose we’d go to the swimming pool after!” he told sincerely. “Think of the opportunity, though! And maybe reconsider walking away from a Conservator while your victim still seats with him; that’s not entirely strategical,” he advised.

Emyr made a rude gesture back towards the other, not even looking back to see if they were watching him. He didn’t need to, he knew they were.

Luyeour, however was holding his glass of Kanar like it was the only thing keeping him in reality. Tianda sent him some concerned looks, but chose not to say anything about it until someone else did.

“I think I just did irreparable damage to my friendship with him,” Nardine theorized like a fuzzy afterthought. “You really know how to terrify people, Glain. You could easily ask us all for confessions that would render any other man hot and bothered,” she snorted and got elbowed in the side by Tianda.

“You really want to take them to a trial, then?” she asked sincerely, because she couldn’t tell if Glain meant to do so or not.

“It’s tempting,” Glain admitted. “See, the problem is that he  _ thinks _ I’m serious, so I might have to act on it, else I might end up with his vesala against me. Of course, I could also keep that as a lever to ensure that he doesn’t send his vesala after me, but Barvonok vesala is highly unreliable – no offense,” he grinned at the women and chuckled, because he knew they knew he was right (and Nardine had just proven him right, really).

“What a pity,” he sighed, “too much pride rids a man from his scales more surely than prelan fever. But Luyeour,” he turned to the secretary and dragged his chair closer, “you look a bit pale,” he observed him with kind concern. “I know this look. This is the look of an innocent man who was made to believe a fault was his, when it never was. Good to show in the first part of a trial. Adequate follow-up can be outrage, with a mixture of anger and revulsion, and, for the ending, the stoic valiance of the man who sees his abuser defeated and acknowledges the sentence as sufficient enough to warrant letting go of grudges and settling into peace. Peace, Luyeour. Peace and justice is what I have to offer you,” Glain smiled at him with hope glimmering in the green of his eyes. “Your reputation will be restored, your vesala will return to you, and I can talk with the Archon to settle on a sentence that would leave  _ you _ free of guilt.”

Luyeour didn’t particularly dare look at Glain – and somehow, he felt as though it didn’t matter what the verdict really was. Everyone would know, anyway.

“He’d have to tell everyone why he went into my flat. Why he had my access code,” he lifted his glass and emptied it, as if that was going to help.

“No more of that for you,” Nardine chimed and went around the table, taking the glass away.

“I left those PADDs where they could be accessed by someone else – I still have them. But in a safer place. Not that hindsight helps,” he sent Glain a skittish look, that of a prey animal ready to dart away. “I should’ve handled them with more care – and Emyr- Emyr will tell everyone of us. My parents would disown me – they’d have to, they have their business to think of; they need to keep it alive so their next child can inherit it.”

“Well, that is, if  _ he _ were to dare tell of those things in front of his family, and while being charged with lies and squander. All he might say will but discredit him further, and the only ones to believe him might, unfortunately, be his own family. In trying moments, I assure you that nobody wishes to lose their family’s support, even if the relations weren’t best. Court can have this wonderful effect of bringing people together ...when the sentence isn’t death. Which it will not be. Life can seem like a harsher punishment, but it is also a chance. Everyday is a new opportunity. None should fear life, Luyeour,” he added for he sensed something familiar in the secretary’s fear.

“Then what are you going to say? That he broke into my flat like some kind of burglar?” Luyeour asked like an accusation while Tianda left to get dessert for everybody.

“You don’t have to say he was your shamar: keeping it at luzzur is enough. It’s very improper of anyone to question what lays behind that word, which is why it exists at all. Very convenient,” he pointed. “Then again, that’s a bit irrelevant. The court cares not about the why and how, only about the point. And the point is that he stole from you. But I’ll need to take a look at those PADDs. It’s very good that you kept them,” he smiled a bit more warmly. “Did you give him the keys to access the data on them?”

Luyeour blinked a couple of times, then made a tormented expression as he tried to remember.

“No,” he decided with a headshake, “definitely not. I must’ve left them unlocked when he picked them,” he shook his head and swallowed. “It’s not that kind of simple lock for which you just have a passcode to get in; there’s an identification unit, you know, the little external hardware thing – ancient, but foolproof. I just, I just forgot to log myself out, I suppose.”

“Uhm, yes,” Glain hummed knowingly. “I’ll have to look into that. Do you know that they keep hard tracks of failed unlocking attempts too? Then it’ll be easy to see whether you left the PADDs unlocked or if someone broke in forcefully in a way or another. I’m… rather qualified with such things,” he said and cleared his throat a bit, composing himself more formally. It was useful for my previous occupation as archivist  _ and _ it’s very handy if you work in law.”

Of course, it would be found out that Emyr broke in, whether he did or not, but Luyeour didn’t need to know that.

“What do you think, Nardine?” he decided to involve her in the conversation. “And by the way, what’s Emyr’s family name?” he figured would be good to know.

“Tyjor,” Luyeour answered in Nardine’s stead.

She gave a nod.

“A very rich, influential family. They’re one of the main financial investors in the Kanar market,” she nodded to Luyeour’s empty glass, “and because of it, they’ve managed to keep on top for a very, very long time. There’s always a market for Kanar – in times of celebration, in times of comfort, it’s a product you can sell regardless. I guess, with Emyr out of the Society, we might have to find another source of drink,” she chuckled and shook her head.

“I loved him,” Luyeour marked with dislike. “I don’t see what’s so funny about this. I don’t want his life ruined.”

“He didn’t think twice about ruining yours,” Nardine pointed out quite harshly.

“It’s how he is. I knew that when I started being with him, I just thought...”  _ that I’d be the exception _ , he didn’t finish the sentence. It was too pathetic and shameful.

“You’re precious,” Glain set his hand on his and rubbed it a little with his thumb. “That might be why he wanted you, but men who like money fail to appreciate the sheer value that lays within their peers. Falling in love with the wrong person happens all the time, but we must learn to see the harm for what it is and move away from it,” he absent-mindedly placed his other hand on his belly, where his scars used to lay. “His life was ruined by his own doing, Luyeour. He shouldn’t have harmed you in the first place, and he shouldn’t have confessed in front of me  _ and _ witnesses. Without witnesses, I could have turned a deaf ear, maybe, but in this situation, I am a man of law and representant of the State,” he argued. “I warned him. The fault isn’t on you, and I assure you, penitence yields clemence down the path of repentance. There is only so much we can excuse without reprimands, and Emyr should have been put back in place long, long ago.”

Luyeour hiked up his scarf to cover himself a bit again. He didn’t feel precious, he felt like an idiot.

“Fishmilk jelly, topped with black Kanar – uh, and red berry sauce for you, Glain,” Tianda appeared behind the two men, and set the tray with the four glass bowls on the table.

Darkness had started to fall by then, and the lights were getting turned on around them, glistening like magic in the Kanar, turning it into oil. Glain’s berry sauce, however, looked like thick, crimson blood spilt on an innocent white background.

“I thought,” Tianda continued, “that I’d ask for sprinkles as well, but they only had the ones that make you want to do things that some of us are avoiding, so I opted out,” she blushed a bit. Aphrodisiacs used for candy wasn’t forbidden, but it was cheeky to have it in such a rumored place.

“Thank you, dearest,” beamed Nardine, “I’m sure you’ll make up for it when we get back to my flat,” she grinned, which caused the other to blush even more.

“I don’t have any chance of impressing anyone now,” Luyeour admitted out loud, coaxed by the alcohol imbuing his brain, “You must think that I lack both critical thinking and self-preservation – and what’s worse, I think you might be right.”

“You’re wrong,” Glain denied simply and removed his hand with a caress to take his spoon. “I think you must have a lot of critical thinking to hold the position you do, but having been with Emyr blinds you to the reality of him. And that’s not a flaw on your behalf. It’s not a lack of intelligence, instinct or anything. It’s something that can happen to each and every one of us,” he told. Including himself. “I like your honesty. If anything, it’s something I find attractive, because it is so rare. I like your origins… I hold more admiration for those who struggled to get places than for those who were born where they sit.”

Luyeour couldn’t help but to smile at that.

“Oh, it really wasn’t much of a struggle – unless you count late nights in other people’s beds –” Tianda, who hadn’t expected such a blunt wording, stifled a chuckle – “it’s all networking, Your – I mean, Glain,” he took to fingering his empty Kanar glass. “If I hadn’t been like... like all of us,” he indicated Glain and the women, “then I wouldn’t have made vesala out of my current colleagues, and I would’ve never gone to Culat. I can appreciate the irony – Cardassia usually strives to abolish those things, but here, in this way, I’m highly rewarded. And if you want me to boast about it because class transcendence is attractive to you, I’m afraid you’ll have to be disappointed. I’m just as brilliant now as I would’ve been if I had ended up working in my family’s business.”

“Try me…” Glain swore in a contrastingly soft voice, “you’re very good at being cute,” he repressed a flirtatious giggle, only letting it tingle in the gleam of his eyes. “Networking, yes… I believe that’s how it’s done when the odds aren’t most favorable. Do you know that the Chief Editor of all news in Cardassia is a Soukaran whose father and forefathers were chefs? And he’s stayed in that position for several decades already,” he couldn’t help but gossip a bit. “He does have for himself that he’s not picky about the sex of those he lays with,” Glain sighed, thinking a bit.

“But then,” he started again, “how do you… I mean, laying with others and sharing real names? Isn’t that risky?” he asked for all. “I’ve never, ever shared my name. Except once,” he corrected and took a spoonful of dessert.

Luyeour looked at Glain with a bewildered expression, then his neck darkened when he realized what had been interpreted.

“Oh,” he uttered and shook his head, “oh, it’s not the sex that makes the networking. That was just me trying to be funny – I mean, I put a lot of effort into being... of the nature I am, so to speak.” He looked to Nardine and Tianda, who were both in a similar state of disbelief – or maybe, Nardine a little less.

“It’s not strange that he was never invited,” she made a hand movement in the direction of Paldar, “most members of The Society have connections here, in Barvonok. I made mine during my studies – my mother might be an Archon, but since I wasn’t, I was considered safe. Glain, however, went to Sidjartan. The Ministry of Justice isn’t exactly welcome in the Society; the exceptions we make are few and far inbetween,” she nodded knowingly. “But since he’s my cousin, I have decided that I’ll vouch for him.  _ If _ he’s interested in the company.”

“And if not?” Tianda asked carefully.

“Then we have to kill him,” Nardine answered with such confidence that Tianda couldn’t detect a lie. Neither could Luyeour, so when no one laughed, she rolled her eyes at them, “then we’ll let him go.”

Glain took a moment to observe himself, slightly disturbed. He’d taken Nardine’s words as seriously as the others had, and had nodded in agreement to them. His only concern was that murder could mean problems for his cousin and her friends. He hadn’t felt any outrage or opposition to the idea of  _ being _ murdered. But at least he’d cared for the others, and he hoped that meant he was doing progress, at least for Delna’s sake (she was trying so hard to get him back to life).

“I’m conscious that bringing Emyr to court isn’t most timely just now, but I can keep secrets and refrain from dragging people to the tribunal,” he said politely. “It’s a necessary ethos in political analysis and research, and that wouldn’t be the first group I get in contact with that isn’t entirely aligned with current morals and lines of conduct.”

“There are, of course, certain rules you’d have to abide by – someone will find you and let you know what they are, once we’ve processed you,” Nardine told with the same ease that she didn’t mention that the entirety of the Society as a construct worked very much the same way as the Obsidian Order, mostly courtesy to the fact that some very high members of the very same were also the ones in charge.

However, the topic of trial had a different effect on Luyeour, who lost his smile to a grimace.

“When I broke up with him, I thought it was because I hated him,” he reckoned, “I really wanted something like this to happen – but now? I think I broke up with him because he hurt me, and that isn’t the same thing. I don’t know...”

“Dear Luyeour, it happens that luzzurs and shamars sometimes hurt each other, and it is a most sad thing when they do so without meaning to. What Emyr did to you however, is beyond the scope of accidental hurting, and he does deserve hatred for how much he wounded you – it was a vile betrayal,” Glain shared his vehement opinion, taking the other’s hand in his own again. “There are things that simply cannot be judged by common law, and I sympathize to you,” he assured, holding his face with his other hand so to look into his dark eyes with empathic confidence. “I promise it’ll get better, and I really do put great effort in holding my promises,” he tried to somehow share that faith.

Then he sighed, drawing back to a more proper sitting, and looked at the women again.

“I hope you don’t mean that I might have to expect a visit at home, considering I currently dwell in the home of my most peculiar military uncle who lusts for absolutely no one at all, and his tender wife-to-be, who is a most kind and strong woman – I think you’d like her,” he thought to say, because he could very well picture it. Delna and Liyara had had an excellent contact, and even if Nardine wasn’t Liyara, they had enough resemblances to lift the odds.

“They’ll find you when it’s convenient,” Nardine reassured him, “though from the sound of it, it sounds like you should invite  _ me _ . I make a point to help military wives – ouch!” Tianda had punched her upper arm – not hard enough to cause the overdramatic response, but not soft enough not to mean it, either.

“Don’t be a slut,” she told her as if the word was very casual and had nothing to do with being an actual slut.

“Fine, you can come as well,” Nardine offered, to which Tianda didn’t pay her any signs that she was impressed.

“I remember when I got my invitation,” she told instead, “I was hanging outside the seventh floor of the building – you see, one of those pesky things had built a nest out there, and I was trying to relocate it, when suddenly, right next to me, a guy descends from the roof to do it for me. And he conveniently left behind a PADD with all the information I needed – it was really weird.”

“Aha,” Glain said, half-entertained, half-wary. “I hope they’ll send me a woman then – men who favor unusual entrances and exits can be dangerously attractive,” he tried to joke, but Enkem lingered in the back of his mind, “and then they just vanish and, if anything,  _ that _ is very confusing,” he finished with a thoughtful hum.

At least, that was something Luyeour could agree with, and he nodded vigorously.

“When I was slightly younger, I disguised myself as a crate of fabrics – I kept a tailor for a lover. He was meticulous, and knew he hadn’t ordered the crate – he nearly sent me back in the mail. It was a bit stressful, until he decided to just give up and accept the package. You should’ve seen his expression when he found me inside – wearing my best leather outfit and full makeup. Ahh...” he twirled the empty glass a bit. “Now see,  _ he _ had a sense of humour. We lost contact after I moved to Culat. He lives in Torr, I think he felt like a cross-class relationship was getting to be  _ too _ disorderly.”

Glain couldn’t help but snicker at the mental picture of the entire scene.

“And I thought  _ I _ was disorderly for letting my lover sneak in the Institute and correct me in a classroom – he had a rare talent for knowing when exactly we’d be found by none,” he remembered with a bit of humor. “Quite a start in life…” he murmured. “Sometimes it feels like I must have dreamt it all. It was so surreal. It still is…” As his gaze was unfocusing from the present, he shook himself however. “And so, how did it happen for you, Nardine?” he asked his cousin who hadn’t shared her story yet.

Nardine, who had been slightly distracted by Tianda’s groping under the table, tried to jolt herself back to reality and the discussion.

“How did what happen?” she asked wildly.

“That first contact,” Glain sketched the topic, “did someone came out of your shower or knocked at your door… like, your wardrobe’s door. From inside,” he specified. “Sure has happened to me, and I was very upset to find he’d beamed away all my clothes too,” he made a dismayed face. “Got them back eventually. A little more than was before too.”

“Ha!” Nardine shook her head and looked sidewise at Tianda, “I don’t know if that is a story to be shared. In fact, I think, that I will keep such secrets to those for whom it’s relevant,” she smiled wolfishly, then continued. “Women have different rituals, different things that impress us, and that we are driven to do. Especially the kind who isn’t drawn to men,” she wet her lower lip.

“The hoarding,” Tianda told with a knowing nod. “There were some weeks when I was absolutely convinced that Nardine would  _ love _ a collection of antique Kanar bottles.”

“You can’t believe how relieved I was when that compulsion wore off – my flat was starting to look like that of an alcoholic.”

Both women burst out laughing, and Tianda held up a finger to stifle herself.

“It was almost as bad as when Nardine thought I had an interest in especially colorful resistors – you know, the little bead-like things you can find in the circuit boards of PADDs. She must’ve gathered at least a hundred of them!”

“At least they are small,” Nardine defended herself, but amusement pulled her mouth into a deceitful grin.

“I love those things,” Glain confessed absent-mindedly, a slightly naive smile hatching on  his lips. “I didn’t know things were that different for women… I wonder if that’s why Delna was hoarding pets and hairpins – she had an entire collection of those thin ones fastened on the inside of her jackets. Very pretty. When I inquired, she said she was just trading them with some friends at the Institute. I didn’t question it.”

“Hehe, ’ _ trading’ _ ,” Nardine muttered cheekily to Tianda, then cleared her throat, “but yeah, you know how pregnant women hoard stuff to make a nest and prepare for the baby? I think it’s connected – and the strange thing is, we don’t see it in men interested in women, not typically anyway. Oh, he might give her a dress every now and then, but proper collections? That almost only happens when he gives her flowers, and then he’ll think his woman likes it because it’s flowers, not because there’s twenty-five of them and all in the same color. Men, they are so daft – but what I meant,” she shook her head, “is that for women who are interested in women, we hoard stuff for each other. It’s funny, because women don’t hoard things for their men.  _ I _ think it means women were supposed to live together and only see men when it’s absolutely necessary – and that’s why military wives are so happy with life even if they don’t get to see their partner a lot. Because they don’t need him, emotionally speaking. But they  _ do _ need a woman...”

“A very female inbred vision,” Tianda interfered, “I’m sure someone who is into both women and men would disagree...”

“If I’d known, I would have brought Delna along,” Glain sighed. “I’ve never really thought of why we seek the people we seek, and try to please them the way we do. The men I’ve been with were different and samey somehow. I’d listen to their stories, receive gifts from some more regular ones… Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and that’s correct,” he looked at Nardine. “I’ve been a wonderful comfort worker, albeit a hobbyist one. But it was most interesting from a societal point of view. I’m starting to think we’re not meant to be with only one person,” he nodded. “Why else would we need so many different names, like shamar, sulim, luzzur…”

“I prefer keeping only one partner,” Tianda straightened up, “the fewer people you invite close to you, the lesser the risk. It’s also considerate for the other – if you get caught, it’s just the two of you...” she looked at Nardine, emotion welling up in her eyes. “I only want one,” she reaffirmed.

“I don’t,” Luyeour shared with a grimace. “Oh, I do like having one established partner, one with the ultimate loyalty. But for the rest, if I can’t do as I please, then it’s... it’s just no fun. I like to be seduced, and to seduce, I like sex with people I hardly even know – or people who would otherwise be taboo. I don’t think I’d be able to stay loyal to someone who required of me to have no more excitement in my life.”

“If my shamar asked loyalty of me, I’d oblige,” Glain told, “but I… like the intimacy we bring in the bed with others, with strangers. I like to hear their stories and confessions, and those are unalike anything you would ever hear at the Ministry. To me, it’s alike to making love to Cardassia, however blasphemous that sounds. I love her. I wish I could be attracted to women so to touch this vision too,” he admitted. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried the drugs, the hormones, the education… but I’m not sure it’ll ever happen. I think it’s the female body itself that… it’d be like laying with my own mother and that’s…” he made a face. “I loved her deeply, I still do, but not…” that was starting to be quite a muddle so he just cleared his throat and focused on his dessert.

No one said anything for a moment, and at last, Tianda got up and stretched.

“I really need to get going, I’ve got work tomorrow, and my superior can be very harsh when she thinks I’m slacking,” she made a cheeky expression at Nardine, who nodded at that.

“So I’ve heard.”

“It’s been nice meeting you, Glain,” she nodded to him and then at Luyeour, “Have a safe evening, all of you.”

“It was a pleasure too,” the Conservator politely answered. “Please, do not dwell on my last words; they weren’t very representative,” he apologized sheepishly.

“I understand,” she answered to that, and walked off, disappearing into the glum network of Barvonok.

Nardine watched her until she was gone, then she got up as well.

“I believe I have a flat to sneak into,” she hinted with a wink, then disappeared without saying due farewells – she didn’t feel like she had to.

That left Luyeour, who had only just realized he’d gotten a bowl of dessert, which actually tasted pretty good.

“So...” he cleared his throat, “do you usually introduce yourself to people by signing them up for a trial?”

“Only when I’ve got my eye on them,” Glain answered fluidly. “Why, getting rid of the concurrence secures better odds, doesn’t it?” he joked and shook his head. “It truly was easier and more innocent when I didn’t have to represent the State,” he admitted. “My father didn’t raise me to attack people like that out of nowhere, but then again, we very much aren’t the same persons. I can tolerate a lot, but not that kind of harm…” he said almost like an apology. “You still haven’t revealed your name,” he added.

“Ador,” Luyeour answered with a look to his dessert, “a name that has been handed down for generations. I expect I’ll have to enjoin out of it if I want to keep my position – Rokat is a nice one; you don’t happen to have any unwed relatives?” he jested with a slanted smile.

“You’ve missed one by just a little,” Glain answered a bit dramatically. “I’d only just brought her into our family and she went off to enjoin the Notator who identified her,” he shook his head. “Very disorderly,” he commented knowingly. “I have an adopted little sister but she’s only about to reach thirteen; that’s too small. No, I’m afraid I’m the only specimen available in my lineage, but I’d have to turn myself into a woman first ...unless you’d rather,” he kept the options open.

“Sometimes I do,” Luyeour told with ease, “It comes with hooking up with a tailor. But, that’s just clothes, dresses I like to wear, roles I like to play – to become a woman, and have to abide by the same standard a lot of women have to, I don’t think I’d enjoy that,” he smiled bittersweetly, then shook his head and a bit of a blush came up on his neck. “Emyr had a false identification made for me, so I could go in public as a woman. Money can really buy everything – I wouldn’t dare using it now, though; he’s probably rendered it invalid, what with how I just sold him out to a Conservator – oh,” he lamented, “what am I going to do? What have I done? After everything he’s given me...” the Kanar stung his eyes a bit. “I’m not blaming you, Your Glain, you have to do your job, just like the rest of us. But it’s me. Why do I have to be so clumsy? I put us all in such a troublesome situation, I’m so very sorry.”

Glain turned a bit on his chair to observe him with calm and caressed his lap soothingly.

“It’s not you. It’s him. The best way to avoid punishment is to avoid committing crimes and to avoid the people implicated in it. By coming, he took that risk himself. That’s what happens when one grows too confident in the width of their neck. But you’re right, I should probably make a mention now already – money does buy everything, or almost,” he nodded and took his PADD to message the Ministry.

As he did so, he asked Luyeour for further bits of information about the case – what was the data about, what products Emyr put on the market (a new solution that both bleached and strengthened scales as well as several makeup products to go along with it), when, and the relevant requisition codes. He made sure to require that a transporter suppression field be held around Luyeour’s borough until the incriminating PADDs were obtained by officials, and that Emyr be put under close watch.

It had to be one of the most unexpected sites for an interrogation, and that in itself made the situation feel surreal, especially for Luyeour. Once the questions were over, he felt dizzied, and his dessert bowl was empty.

“We should do this again,” he muttered absently, “I mean, not  _ this _ , but I mean, meet up. I have to go back to Culat though – do you have a comlink I could use?”

“I do,” Glain smiled brightly although still with composure, “and I would like to. Meet you again, I mean. I… I’m glad I didn’t scare you away. I’d hate for such a thing to happen. You’re very sweet, Leyour, and if it weren’t for that promise to my uncle…” he let warmer feelings transpire through his gaze. “If I can visit you soon, I’ll bring  _ my  _ dress.”

Luyeour raised his eyeridges in surprised approval.

“How disorderly of you – I like it,” he approved and leaned closer, “and once your cameras have been arranged to be turned off at specific hours, we could have a lot of fun on video calls. It doesn’t count as sex if it’s not physical,” he defended cheekily.

Glain chuckled, “I’ve done such things while ...commuting through space,” he shared just as discreetly. “But I’ll have to talk to my uncle first. Or to Delna. Probably rather to Delna,” he cracked a grin. “Although, I guess Enjam will have to hear of the topic at some point or another…”

Luyeour wet his lower lip and then leaned his elbow on the table, and his head on his hand.

“What will you do if Delna says no? Would you perchance be allowed to watch as long as you don’t touch yourself – or be indecent yourself, as long as I’m not entertaining myself physically?”

“Let’s hope so, that would be rather quite interesting,” Glain agreed, mimicking the other’s position. “Ah, My Leyour Ador, do you happen to know that it’s fairly easy to be seduced by you?”

“Good,” purred Luyeour, “because I’m certainly doing my best to keep you comfortable. It’s a fine line to walk,” he trailed a finger over the table’s surface. “I really should go, before this becomes difficult not to escalate.”

“Let me walk you to the station,” Glain passed a few fingers behind his ear and spread the fragrance on the other’s cheek as he cupped it. He smiled and leaned forth to set his lips against Luyeour’s, soft and chaste. A faint taste of Kanar lingered there, making it all the sweeter. Before the other might deepen the kiss, Glain drew back. “We’ll meet again. And you’ll be more sober and we’ll talk of statistics and filing systems.”

“I think I’d like that,” Luyeour smiled.

Glain gathered all the dishes neatly enough that they might be easy to pick for the waiter, and helped his new friend to get up.

“I’ll tell you when you might see me onscreen, and on which channels,” he humored him, “that might get you used to my style of Conservation, and I’ll have a thought for you,” he suggested and went on blabbering as they walked.

The distance between them was reasonable, more proper, forbidding the kind of cheeky discussion they’d had, but that didn’t matter, because simple talk was still delightful in the company of a pleasant person. And for all the drunkenness and tiredness, Luyeour was most pleasant. The charm of new acquaintances was real, and the prospect of friendship, trial and vesala were potent spices on an attractive personality.

“I look forward to telling my colleagues how I met you in person,” Luyeour eventually shared, “and I won’t even have to put up a facade: you’ve been nothing but orderly, proper and sober,” he giggled a bit, “unlike me. But I don’t need to tell them that!”

Glain laughed along. Internally, he was surprised and flattered that Luyeour thought him orderly and proper. That was something he could report to Delna, and hopefully she’d appreciate the progress.

All in all, it’d been a highly successful evening.

##  * * *

“Where have you been?”

Glain startled at the question – he’d only just come home and taken off his jacket, and there was Delna, standing by the kitchen’s door.

“Why… you ask with the tone of someone who already knows, so maybe I should be the one asking you where I’ve been?” he replied, a bit bewildered.

“Come,” she said instead and headed back into the kitchen.

Glain hadn’t much of a choice but to oblige and found Delna already seated with Tain on her lap. That in itself gave a clear message that there would be no escape to the questions. If she could get that cat out of the cellar, she could get anything, and the black feline added to the inquisitive atmosphere. So Glain sat in front of the cup of pale soupe that was waiting for him.

“I asked my cousin Nardine to introduce me to some friends of hers and she thought it would be a good idea to pick the most gender-confused ones. One of them is now due for a trial,” he flatly summed up, at which Delna nearly snort-spat in her own cup.

“You what? What did you do, Glain Rokat?” she blinked at him.

“Rather ask what  _ he _ did,” he corrected with a bit of outrage. “They were all already half-drunk when I arrived; I can’t be faulted for them getting talkative and for that pampered Barvonok brat feeling comfortable enough with his nasty betrayals and swindling to confess them in front of  _ me _ , a Conservator, with witnesses,” he gestured a bit like Nall did when he was getting upset. “He’s a complete ass and deserves to get chewed by an Archon on prime time.”

Delna sighed.

“Alright, you do you,” she rolled her eyes. “I take it you didn’t make a lot of friends tonight then?”

“Quite the opposite, three quarters of them were very delighted with me – the remaining quarter being Emyr, that idiot. I was flirted with but I kept tame. I was the only one not to drink, and Luyeour said I was very orderly and proper too,” he repeated almost like a child. “I kissed him,” he admitted, “ _ but only with the lips, _ ” he hurried to add. “He’s sweet. A medical secretary, working in Culat. He’d like for us to call each other,” he avoided to look at her, finding great interest in the purplish herbs spicing his soup (which was starting to phase, with the milky stuff forming a cloudy bubble under the more transparent liquid).

“Alright…” Delna nodded. “Is it going to be kinky calls?” she figured, partly because it was something she intended to do with Enjam.

“He’d like to, or at least that’s how he felt while drunk,” Glain answered in a smaller voice.

“I think it’s too early yet. Give love a chance before getting to the sex part.”

“You mean you don’t mind me flirting?” he finally looked at her again.

“I think you could use some romance,” she agreed. “You’ve lived like a sex-addict, you’ve claimed to be unable to fall in love again, until you realized you’d been in love with Iltarel all along. I think you need to get back in touch with those emotions of yours, learn to spot love again when you feel it instead of denying it in fear of what it could do to you. But I don’t want you to go around flirting with just anyone for the sake of it. At this stage, sentiment is to be treated with respect, so abstain when you can,” she recommended and he nodded.

“I guess I’ll see if he does have interest in me,” he hummed. “And anyway, we’ll have to keep a low profile until that trial has passed, because he’s the victim, and I can’t be disorderly with him in such circumstances.”

“Uhum,” Delna agreed almost like a groan. “Be careful Glain…”

“I know, I know… I have to think of my family,” he put down his cup and leaned forth to set a hand on her lap (he’d forgotten that Tain was there, which caused the cat to slink away, much to Delna’s disappointment). “I have no intention to harm any of you.”

“I’d like it more if those feelings were targeted to ‘any of  _ us _ ’ instead,” she held his head and hugged it, even if it was a bit awkward a position. “You’re precious to us all, little Glain, and we would all be very happy if you took as good care of yourself.”

“I know… I try… I really do.”

“Good,” Delna smiled softly and let him go. She could have asked some more about that peculiar group of friends that Nardine had, but opted not to. It wasn’t relevant enough yet, and mystery could be safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	40. V - Guilty as charged

#  Guilty as charged

Emyr’s flat spanned two floors: an upper and lower level that both looked out over the dining room below, and the city spreading out ahead. Spacious designs such as this one was something of an antiquity – the trend had never truly caught on, likely because it didn’t cater well enough to the Cardassian need for hiding spots. Nevertheless, Emyr was an appreciator of culture, history and architecture, and had opted to keep his flat intact, ironically increasing its value on the market the more he relieved it of its ‘improvements’. To have a bedroom overlooking the dinner table, and vice versa, might be considered a bit disorderly these days, but had been the praxis back then: the chaste approach to sex was a fairly recent development, as it had once been considered an insurance for the future if offspring had seen their parents mate at least once. For that reason alone, Emyr didn’t have as much regret for the current order of things than he could’ve. If there were any two people he didn’t want to catch at it, it would have to be his parents.

It was in this luxurious flat that he sat on his bed, sipping sweetened Kanar while flicking through his PADD, looking for something – anything – to use as blackmail against Glain Rokat. There was a surprising lack of material, especially since the good stuff – him being a social inbred – was a dead end in matter of useability.

At last, when he didn’t find anything, he extended his search to include that of  _ friends _ of Glain Rokat. They weren’t exactly plentiful either – one of them was even some sort of freak, lacking pigmentation. That one, Emyr knew, wouldn’t be possible to use as bait at all – if an albino was alive in the first place, it was because he was really difficult to reach. At last, his drink ran out, along with his patience, and he went to bed for the night.

 

Day after, he was hungover and everything tasted like ashes. He’d spent the night thinking about it, and figuring that anyway, Glain couldn’t be serious about the persecution. If he had been, why wasn’t he arrested yet?  _ Someone _ should’ve come to at least look if it was true – that, or they were monitoring him. Suddenly, he somewhat regretted his research on Glain. But then, he could explain that as just checking up on someone he’d met – it was normal, everyone did that.

At last, he decided to call Luyeour. If he couldn’t pressure Glain, he could pressure him. Or would’ve been able to, if the call had been picked, which it wasn’t.

“Well,” he stated to himself and looked around at the cameras, then went back to flop on the bed. He’d have to lay low, that was what it was.

Unfortunately, for him, he wasn’t even granted that chance, as a chime at the door forced him to get up. There behind stood a woman, tall and bearing icy grey eyes matching a uniform of Ministerial Arrest clerk. She was accompanied by a guard who looked old enough to have seen his share of convicts, but was still fit and ready for duty. A mixture of experience and weariness inhabited his slanted almond eyes.

“Your Emyr Tyjor,” the woman spoke distinctly when the door opened, “by order of the Ministry of Justice, you are under arrest for the good continuation of an official investigation and your own safety. Please, put on decent clothes and follow us,” she instructed sternly.

##  * * *

The interrogation room was rather dark and Enar Dain was already comfortably seated by his towering computer console when the convict was brought in by a guard and an intern. The interrogator shifted one of the spotlights adorning the back of his chair to get a good look at the man and compare with the photo on the file.

“Retinal scan,” he required, to double-check, and the intern hurried to carry the request. It wasn’t pleasant, Enar knew, but it was an efficient procedure – making them scraem (like a child in Emy’s case) was a good way to break down their comfort, which made them more vulnerable to what was to follow.

“Emyr Tyjor… Identity… confirmed,” Enar glanced at the computer, then back at the man. “I’ll need you to take a seat,” he motioned his head at the interrogation chair, “but I see you have elegant clothing. Are you capable of keeping yourself clean?” he asked very naturally and eyed at the guard. “You  _ did  _ make sure his Tyjor had a stay at the bathroom,” he asked as an affirmation.

“Yes,” the guard answered. “I didn’t, however, scan the current state of his insides.”

“Let’s hope we won’t get to know about that,” Enar raised an eyeridge and set his grey-blue gaze back on the convict. “Pants on or pants off?”

“I-I’ll keep them on,” Emyr answered in an unsteady voice and moved just as unsteadily to the chair, sitting down in what he hoped was a dignified manner. “Will this take long?” he asked in an attempt to retrieve some of his altitude, “I- I have meetings, people rely on me, important deals to make. You know. That sort of thing. A lot of money involved – if you make sure I’m returned in a timely fashion, maybe I could repay you your kindness, Your...?”

“Interrogator. Your Interrogator,” Enar completed the sentence. “As for time, that depends on your cooperation. You can make things very fast by answering my questions truthfully – lying, in any form, is very ill-advised in this room. Tell me now about the data thievery you committed,” he didn’t specify which, to evaluate how cooperative the other was to begin with.

The intern and the guard locked the convict in the chair, and Enar dismissed them with a short word, leaving just the two of them, him and Emyr, alone in the room.

“I didn’t thieve anything!” Emyr blurted out as soon as the other two had left, “He’d left them there, all I did was to take a look – you should know what it’s like, seeing opportunities, getting that itch in your fingers to turn ideas into profit. Yes, yes you are right, I could have just tried to forget what I saw but – it was just too good a concept. And those idiots, they wouldn’t have known what to do with it, they would’ve gotten scammed regardless. At least  _ I  _ had the resources to turn their idea into something useful for Cardassia – if they would’ve continued on their own, they would’ve sold it off to someone lacking the funds to do anything useful at all. And Cardassia would’ve suffered a lack – you see, I did this for the better of all of us. Not out of selfishness – and  _ certainly _ not out of thievery. I sincerely believe I just gave back to the people what should be accessible to them – and we both know why I’m here, My Interrogator: we’re here because your Conservator wishes to place my former friend in his bed. And this is a scheme to impress him. This has been a plot tailored to cause me collateral damage  _ all along _ . All I want to do, is to return to my business and serve Cardassia – and I assure you, aiding me in this could put you on a golden path of your own. I  _ have _ lifted men into grandness before,” he made a wide-eyed and knowing expression toward the end, “You wouldn’t be the first to bask in the light that is my gratitude.”

“Are you done insulting my rank and profession?” Enar asked in a deeper voice of weariness. “Making insinuations about  _ your _ Conservator isn’t going to help your case, Tyjor, especially the kind of insinuations that stand no ground in court. What stands ground is that you have obtained this data, and took it upon yourself to make use of it, without the opinion nor consent of the developers, which is a crime. If your act truly was generous, you would have consulted those persons and proposed your help – in your own words, ‘they would’ve gotten scammed regardless’,” he quoted and smirked a little. “At least, you did confess having scammed them,” he said and pressed a button on his console. “This usage in itself already constitute thievery, but we also have proof that someone broke into the relevant PADDs to extract protected data. This someone would be you, and this act constitute a further violation of property.”

Emyr’s eyes widened in  _ actual _ shock this time. Denying guilt for things he had done was within his control but this – this was something else. They had planted physical proof against him!

“Whoever that was, it wasn’t me!” he burst out and tried to lift an arm to gesticulate, which the chair’s restrain prevented him to do. “It wasn’t me!” he repeated, “Someone’s framing me now! I would never  _ break into a PADD _ – that’s illegal and leaves traces! I would never do that – not to anyone, and certainly not to Luyeour – do you know how much money I’ve sunk into him? Invested in his success? I’ve bought him his  _ life _ , I wouldn’t  _ steal _ from him, I wouldn’t need to – he’s indebted to me already, and the only reason he isn’t at my feet, pledging me his undying gratefulness, is because he doesn’t understand yet how much he owes me,” he went onto accusing that  _ Luyeour _ was the one who  _ leaked _ the documents to him.

“Material evidence begs to differ,” Enar pressed various controls to turn on a screen to Emyr’s right, bringing up files and dates, along with video records of Emyr and Luyeour in the secretary’s flat, sharing dinner. “Do you remember those encryption protocols now, or do you wish to see the moment in which you start fidgeting around those PADDs?” he asked neutrally. “Those cameras, they’re not always as offline as people think them to be…”

Emyr watched the video with growing distrust and frustration, feeling the hairs in his neck raise in outrage.

“Do show me!” he challenged and rustled a bit in his restraints, “For all we know, that’s a holorecording, a distortion of what happened –  _ listen to me _ . I’m being framed!” he maintained his stance. “I’ve merely been an opportunist – a very Cardassian thing to be! Unlike sloppiness! In truth, Luyeour should be punished – and you know what? If he were, maybe I’d find it in my heart to  _ forgive him _ his leading me into temptation,” he rambled on for a while.

“You talk too much,” Enar stated back. “Save those words for the Conservator,” he said and got up, caressing his combracelet and circling around the chair like a predator who hasn’t yet decided to hunt the prey. “You are sloppy too, Tyjor, lest you would not be sitting in this chair. There is nothing forged about those recordings. I will show them to you,” he stopped in front of the chair and leaned so his face was very close to the other’s, but still difficult to see due to the light in his back. Eyes locked in the other’s eyes, he gazed intensely, seeking for the emotional hook.

“I will show them to you,” he repeated in the exact same tone and manner, as if the moment in between had been but a moment of daydream, “and you will watch very carefully. You will watch very carefully. And you will remember -remember that what you see is what you did. What you did,” he spoke like an hypnotic broken record, eyes never blinking nor wavering. As much as repetition could be soothing to Cardassians, exact repetition was a sure way to mess with their memory and induce doubt and anxiety. The technique was usually rather efficient to ...open minds, so to speak.

In an instant, Emyr was trapped by the gaze. He could keep on denying his crime, but he couldn’t escape the interrogator’s eyes.

“You think too high of yourself to ever conceive of yourself as a criminal, Tyjor,” Enar grabbed his cheek. “You are a good Cardassian. You know that what you do is best for Cardassia. If what you do is best for Cardassia, then all you do is good. There is no place for thievery and crime in your world. It’s the others who are guilty. But that’s only what  _ your _ eyes see. As such, your eyes do not want to believe the recordings I have to show you. In order to let you  _ see _ them for what they are, I might have to remove your eyes first.”

An ice cold feeling spread from Emyr’s chest like the legs of an unfurling spider. He couldn’t move nor speak and he caught himself making a series of stutters. The effort to talk hurt and his body didn’t obey him.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, like a dying fish searching for water to breathe. Whether or not the threat was figurative or literal didn’t matter, both options were terrifying.

“I- I- I am Emyr Tyjor,” he spluttered at last, “you can’t do this to me – I’m of the Tyjor family. Do you know who we are? I can’t admit to a crime I didn’t commit! I can’t lie! I’m not going to lie!”

“Your name means nothing in these walls, Tyjor. We have time. If you do not want to remember what truly happened, we can give you time to remember. And if you refuse to remember and tell the truth, there are other interrogators, with other methods, who can extract the information directly from this brain of yours. For all your imagination, there is nothing standing in the face of technology. I can give you a week. Nine days to think about your acts. Once every two or three days, we can meet. You can tell me if you remember better what you’ve done,” he laid the options and straightened up, towering  and black as the night. “Longer detentions aren’t best for business, however. It  _ is _ in your best interest to confess. And remember. You aren’t infaillible. Those memories of your innocence, you made them up. If Ador had been your accomplice in this thievery… You said it yourself. He wouldn’t have been ingrate. He would still be by your side. Your inability to understand why you fell out of his favor stands on the same grounds as your inability to see the truth for what it is. You’re making yourself very alone by denying your acts… If you cannot even be true to your own self and your own acts, you are a man of little value. Unreliable. Your vesala, your contacts, your business partners, your wealth… all will be lost.”

He marked a pause and took a step aside, turning to face the screen.

“Now, please,” he tapped his combracelet and Emyr’s chair rotated to face the screen too, “appreciate the truth for what it’s been all along,” he said and started playing the recording from the point when Luyeour went to have a shower and the other remained in the room.

Emyr found himself repeating  _ it’s not what happened _ through the entire video. Tears stained his cheeks as he came closer and closer to the realization that there was no way out, that his truth wouldn’t matter in the end. Glain Rokat had this entire game under control, this was his domain, and he had the power to convict Emyr for murder, if he wanted to. All this, because Rokat wanted to bed Ador. Sex. That was what it was about – and it was exactly why the Ministry of Justice were excluded from the Society: they wouldn’t hesitate in tipping the scales in their favour – getting rid of Emyr forever, so that Luyeour wouldn’t do the inevitable. Namely, come back to the one he was truly meant to be with.

What  _ were _ they doing to Luyeour in this moment? Feeding him the same lies? Brainwashing him to believe that Emyr had behaved so outrageously toward him?

“I would never do this!” burst Emyr in complete grief, repeating it several times as if that could make it a reality.

He tried to beg and bargain again, but the Interrogator was adamant, so he returned to throwing the blame on Luyeour and accusing him of having set up the entire thing. A repetitive epic of its own, but Enar was used to such tales.

“Why would he need to get rid of you? The two of you had already lost contact. Your lives had parted ways. You were dead to him already. And if he is as much of a coward as you say,  _ why _ would he go through this much trouble as to set you up? Why would  _ anyone _ care to get rid of you anyway?” he pressed and unfolded himself to fall onto the other, arms landing on the chair, eyes paralyzing him again.

“You give yourself way too much importance, Tyjor. Little hinges on you. You wish that man cared as much for you as to want to give you as much attention as I give you now, and you drench yourself in your own fantasy. You live in a fake world in which money buys all, in which people are summed up as numbers on their bank account. You are fake, and so is your truth. You are a compulsive liar because, you simply do not know what truth even is,” his cold eyes glimmered, pressing guilt onto the other. “You know I am right, because you are empty. You are empty and that is why you yearn for this man to give you fullness, meaning and purpose again. You are the coward hiding behind bold smiles, witless words and filthy money. Being a compulsive liar is dangerous, Your Tyjor. Heed my advice, heed my sight. Remember that night. Remember what you did. For your own sake, remember. Remember how you lacked satisfaction, how you listened to the greed of opportunity. Remember how your betrayed the only person who gave a sense to your life, and how that didn’t even feel like betrayal, because you think you’re always right. You are a natural liar. Remember, Tyjor. Remember  _ what _ you did. You took those padds. Then what?” he asked with a choking stare.

Truth trickling back into a mind that had already rewritten reality never came without pain. Memories, flashes of moments Emyr knew couldn’t have happened, images that couldn’t possibly be within his mind – unwelcome fingerprints blooming on his brain, dark like bruises, and just as sore. Without wanting to, he followed the Interrogator’s steps that guided him into those unreal memories. He stared but didn’t see what was the present, only what had been then.

“I attached the descrambling unit given to me by Emjor, and gathered the data for him,” he told mechanically, his fingers twitching at the memory of being used. “I uploaded the information to the memory rod. Luyeour came out of the shower – too soon – he caught me. I told him how sloppy he had been. I told him he had left the PADDs unlocked. I repeated it until he had no other choice but to believe me. I worked on him for weeks – even after he’d left me,” his eyelids flickered like butterflies, “He left me.”

At last, the Interrogator was satisfied. He had a confession and a name. From there, Emyr easily gave more details about his connection with the man, all that had happened. Enar tapped his combracelet, pinging the intern to come and pick the convict, and released the man from the chair. He offered him a glass of water too, and explained the follow-up, because he was a kind man.

“You’ll be taken to a holding cell and your Conservator will visit you once the Archon has set a sentence and a direction for the trial. The Conservator will also inform you of your Nestor’s identity. Don’t dread too much – your odds aren’t the worst. You’ll manage,” he assured before letting the intern lead him out of the room.

##  * * *

Chief Archon Livat knew what the Rokat family was capable of, and Glain’s case was to her liking for reasons she carefully withheld. She was a sharp woman in some of her best years. Thirty-two and newly enjoined, her career moved forward like the jagged spikes of a lightning blast, with attempts at conception punctuating progress ever so often. She’d miscarried twice already, but anyway, it was better that the body enacted trials too, to get rid of what would’ve been unfit.

It was in the same way that she viewed her own losses, that she also viewed the convicts of her trials. Contempt usually outlined her rulings, and some thought her overly harsh. Influencing her to make sentences softer wasn’t easy, but fortunately for Glain Rokat, she saw the potential of this particular convict. Rich people in particular caused her dislike – and she knew them well enough to understand that a death sentence or even a sentence to forced labour did very little for their kind. What they needed was to repay to Cardassia what they’d stolen – time, money and life.

She’d decided not to pursue Emjor Dolev – that would undermine the entire trial. She’d given Glain her orders; the convict had avoided military service and lived the life of a pampered child. He hadn’t learned what work truly was and truly meant for Cardassia, and had set to playing his own battle, disrupting business he had no part in for his own gain and through shady manoeuvers. The form of rehabilitation she had settled on wasn’t exactly her go-to punishment, but the case wasn’t nasty enough to warrant selling the convict off to science or to the Obsidian Order, and for what it was worth, it had been a while since she sacrificed on the altar of the military. It was for the better to keep a balanced contribution to all three forces of society, after all.

“Emyr Tyjor,” Glain stood by the holding cell before coming in, “I have come with good news,” he told with a gentle voice. “Due to your good cooperation with the Interrogator, the Archon decided not to apply you to psychiatric rehabilitation – which is something any rich man wishes to avoid,” he explained meekly. “You have been sentenced to military rehabilitation, so you might fight the battles you yearn for, and learn the true value of hard work. Were your family to choose and disown you during the trial, this is a good opportunity for you to remake yourself and develop a new vesala,” he went to sit by the man’s side and smiled at him. “I have good faith that you’ll fare well, eventually,” he added with a hand on his lap and cute eyes that told of how hard he’d himself battled to get such a soft sentence.

A more usual punishment for such a crime was labor, and Emyr would still end in a labor camp, albeit as guard rather than as worker.

Emyr didn’t answer – his eyes were far away in a different moment, time folding around itself, tying a strangling noose around his neck. Normally he’d be shocked at the prospect of such a drab future – the simplistic, gritty military life wasn’t for him. He’d never even laid with military men, because they scared him and grossed him out.

And now, he’d have to spend who knew how long, surrounded by nothing but cold metal and the minds of men who would likely beat him if they knew he were into them. It should’ve shocked him, but didn’t.

“If you say so,” he answered blankly, not looking at his Conservator.

Glain stayed silent by his side, eventually laying a hand on the man’s back and rubbing him comfortingly to try and bring him back gently into the real world. At some point, he started to hum a little, the air of a song he liked.

“Do you like singing, Emyr?” he asked softly.

“No,” Emyr answered distantly, too numbed out to be disturbed by the odd question.

“Then I wish you to come to enjoy it, because it truly is one of the havens in which you can stand next to others, and for the time of a song, it matters not who they are, because they are all friends. For that moment, your identity fades away to the tune and rhythm’s favor,” the Conservator shared. “You have been arrogant, Emyr… You tied my hands with those words spoken in front of witnesses, for we all must be loyal first to the State. What were you thinking, I truly wonder? What were you trying to achieve? Or was it alcohol speaking in your stead?”

“Luyeour is the one who said anything,” Emyr defended himself at last, a nasty spark making it back into his mind, along with a renewed splinter of paranoia, “he wanted to get rid of me. He’s using you to get back at me, Glain,” he looked at the other with wild eyes. “Trust me, he comes from the gutters, from the cracks between paving stones – he likes a man in power, until that man doesn’t serve him anymore. Once he’s done with you, he’ll destroy you. Just bare that in mind when you fuck him.”

“I’ll do,” Glain nodded with a tight-lipped stretch, “although I highly doubt I’ll ever ‘fuck him’,” he added, “but that’s a bit beside the point. What matters here and now is  _ you _ .” He marked a pause, looking at the other like at a passing regret.

“A shame, how things turned out… Truly not what I wished for,” he admitted. “Had we met earlier, under other circumstances, I could have taught you to protect yourself better. You  _ are _ a victim in this too, after all,” he conceded. “How did that happen, Emyr? A man of your stature… I mean, we cannot mention  _ what you are _ at the trial, and surely, this  _ cannot _ justify everything… There has to be something else, something more. Did your family rob you of contact with good juridic counselors? Or…” he tried to fish for something to make the convict a tiny bit sympathetic to the general audience.

Emyr shook his head and heaved a sigh.

“It’s complicated,” he winced and wet his lower lip, “in my family, we have a yearly evaluation – there’s seven of us children, and we’re all expected to excel at what we do. I needed a good deal to tip the scales in my favour – it’s been such a bad year. My stocks have not sold nearly as well as they needed to, and without a witty, smart investment, I wouldn’t have much to show for myself. I guess I wanted to shine, just this once – show off some businessman instincts. Can’t say that in a trial though,” he smiled weakly: “People wouldn’t understand, they’d look at my company and they’d go ‘oh, but it’s doing million of Lek in profit, what does he mean  _ it’s been a bad year? _ ’ I don’t expect people to understand,” he looked at Glain with some sort of apologetic grimace, “when you’re rich, you’re in a small minority. People simply won’t understand what kind of pressure you have on you when you’re rich, what kind of ordeals you have to suffer.”

“I actually think a trial is the best place of all to explain this,” Glain truthfully assured. “At any other moment, people would roll their eyes and turn a deaf ear, but in a trial… This is a place for emotion and empathy, Emyr. This is where Cardassia is made, and where we see what it is made off. You might stand court as a criminal, but you are to be rehabilitated as a citizen, and people will look at you as such. You’re what many of them aspire to be or could have been, and they will look at you to see themselves reflected in you, to seek for the ways in which they resemble you so to try and avoid committing the same mistakes as you did. When the night comes, you’ll be an inspiration for them, and a reminder of what happens when pressure outweighs reasonable means,” Glain set his hand on the man’s lap as a gesture of comfort and support.

Without reflecting over it, Emyr laid his hand on Glain’s, intertwining their fingers. A bleak, distant look fell over his eyes and the Conservator had to keep him in the moment.

“I want you to honor Barvonok before you surrender yourself to Akleen for the duration of your rehabilitation there,” he said. “You owe that to yourself even if you don’t know it yet. There is no need to add further regrets,” he stroked his fingers a bit, even if it was slightly disorderly – Conservators were given some slack, thankfully. “I’d rather you make the effort yourself, else there are substances to keep you awake… but I’d rather not come to this, because it’s not best for the soul.”

“I sold my soul long ago,” Emyr muttered bleakly and sent their joined hands a tired look

Then, he looked at Glain to study him some more – how had he failed to see how much of an official he was? How had he let down his guard so completely? There he was, locked behind a force field with his Conservator, who just so happened to be attractive and rather disorderly. A smirk crossed his face, a warm glimmer of life resurfacing – he was at rock bottom. Nothing could get worse. He was already going to a trial.

With a hasty movement, he turned on Glain, pressing him back against the wall, and kissed him – if it was the last time he’d kiss a man in a long time, why not let it be his own Conservator?

With a muffled humph of surprise, Glain tried to resist but his attempt was rather pathetic, given that he was still an untrained skeletal mess, while Emyr had a much stronger build, even for someone who skipped compulsory trainings. With his mouth invaded by an all-too-daring tongue and not much room to evade the intrusion, Glain tried to growl in disapproval, then bite. But Emyr didn’t mind getting bitten – especially not considering that all his tongue was going to do was to spew confessions he’d rather not be making. Instead of backing off, he rummaged eager hands over Glain’s formal clothing, exploring the fabric, finding nipples underneath, and sensitive scales, and then his neck. The fact that the young man was resisting made it all the more worth it. And what made it better yet, was that he  _ knew _ that Glain found him attractive.

Gathering his wits to something more rational, the boy retaliated as soon as his hands were freed, setting them on the other’s neck, gripping him with nails and forcing enough distance at last that he could slink off, slap Emyr, kick his legs and stumble back toward the forcefield while barking at the guard to release him.

“You useless molt! What are you even good for!?” he threw his anger at the unfortunate intern, wiping his mouth with disgust and glaring dagger at both men. “Put the convict in the cooler for twenty minutes, see if that calms down his excess of heat,” he ordered, glaring at Emyr one last time. “We’ll meet again and you’d better behave or your sentence might be revised to something a lot less kind,” he warned and turned around, striding off in aggravation.

##  * * *

Sat in her high seat, Chief Archon Mekora Livat observed the entrance of the Conservator, and then that of the Nestor and the convict. She paid them a nod each, glistening blue eyes passing over them for a moment, before she set her eyes on the main camera, telling of the crime and the sentence.

Once satisfied that she had briefed everyone accordingly, she nodded to the Conservator.

“Is your convict ready to confess, Conservator?” she asked fromally, stapling together her fingertips.

“Absolutely, Our Archon,” Glain bowed in reciprocated formal respect, and turned to Emyr. “Your Tyjor, would you confess now?” he asked as if there were that much of a choice – the plan was an incomplete confession, the kind that would force the Archon to draw onto the questions, onto which Glain could then hook himself up, hopefully.

Sat next to the convict, the Nestor was giving a scolding look of encouragement, the kind that made one want to sit away, sooner in the witness’s stand than by his side.

Emyr climbed the stairs to the convict’s stand, eyes flickering everywhere as he avoided eye contact with the ever staring Archon. Then he locked eyes at Glain, a grin twitching over his lips for a moment – to be shameless at the tribunal wasn’t far from him.

“I confess,” he said, almost like a flirtation, “but before you judge me – imagine instead what would have happened if the product had been sold to the rival company. A company that went bankrupt mere weeks after I released the creation on the market – so many people have enjoyed it already. They wouldn’t have done so at all, had it not been for me.”

At that, the Archon made a disgruntled expression and waved her hand.

“Do you not agree that in Cardassia, everything worthwhile finds a way to flourish?” she asked coldly, and when he didn’t have an answer, she leaned forward in her seat, danger glinting in her eyes. “Do you truly believe yourself so important that you stand above the law? Was it worth it? What is this product, even? Some sort of cosmetic? What made you end yourself up in court over  _ a cosmetic product? _ ” She raised an eyeridge and leaned back.

Emyr’s cheeks went hot and he looked at the room in front of him.

“I don’t... I don’t think – it’s not exactly how it is-”

“I think that that’s  _ exactly _ how it is,” the Archon snipped and blew some air through her nose, “and not only did you profit off of the work of honest Cardassian citizens, you also invaded the privacy of a young man,” she cleared her throat. “I believe it is time to bring in the family, so that the hearing of the witnesses might begin,” she nodded to the door, “Conservator.”

“Yes,” Glain nodded, doing a good job at not showing just how entertained he was – that Archon was good, and her comebacks were absolutely wonderful.

He turned to the door as more came in, including Luyeour. The head of Emyr’s family was there too, and within a second of looking at her eyes, Glain knew disassociation was at hand. Over a cosmetic product and a trial. Well, that was Barvonok.

Her Telya Tyjor’s lips were thinned in a silent frown, and her hair was an overly fancy do that the Archon knew wouldn’t win her any favours in the eyes of the general public. Rich people could be so out of touch with the trends of reality, honestly.

“I extend to you the kindness of the court, and grant you the chance to disassociate the convict from the Tyjor family. Do you wish to do so?” she asked fluently, and the woman nodded fervently, silly locks of her hair bobbing over her cheeks.

“I do, Our Archon, I really do,” she confirmed, and then turned to Emyr, making dark eyes at him.

“Good, you are then dismissed from this court,” Livat gestured kindly to the door at the opposite end of the chamber, and the woman strode off, leaving Emyr to examine his shattered sense of self.

“I call the first witness, His Ador,” the Archon declared and invited Luyeour to climb the witness stand, “Conservator, you may question the witness,” she extended the word to Glain, because she had a hunch he might have some juicy intel he’d like to use.

The young Conservator took a moment to pace toward the medical secretary, as if bearing a part of the man’s own sadness, with bravery nonetheless. Luyeour sat in the witness chair, ashen pale and sober-looking in his nicest red-brown costume.

“Your Ador,” Glain raised his voice with tact and softness, “would you please tell us of your experience, being part of this research team? How did it make you feel?” he asked, guiding the question toward something relatable. A goal to strive for, a place to get, a comfort to find...

Bracing himself with a deep breath, Luyeour nodded and cleared his throat:

“It’s difficult to put words on, but I’d say it made me feel grateful, useful too, and we weren’t just a group of scientists: We were friends. We’d read each other’s works, give feedback... I loved all of that. It’s probably one of the most Cardassian things I’ve been part of,” he fiddled a bit with his fingers to get rid of the physical stress and smiled as a reflex not to cry instead. It was a bit too early to cry.

Glain nodded a paced a little again, “This is a most Cardassian feeling indeed, for it is something which even the most humble ones of us can afford, with some effort. As of now, would you say you still enjoy this sense of community in your job, or has anything changed since this data went missing?”

Luyeour opened his mouth just a little, then shook his head and diverted his eyes.

“Of course things have changed – I went from being considered well-kept, to... to be seen as untrustworthy. As it should be,” he added with some force, “I would have done the same – I feel, felt, so disgusted with myself. To have let it happen. Your honor, Our Archon,” he looked at Livat with teary eyes. “I ask no understanding or sympathy for my part in this. I’m so sorr-” he had to interrupt himself, because that was when he couldn’t hold his tears back anymore, and even though he knew that it likely made the trial an interesting one to watch, he still tried to hide what was left of his dignity, covering his mouth a bit.

Chief Archon Livat pursed her lips together and clinked her fingertips together.

“This is a kind and forgiving court,” she said graciously, “but even I, a highly esteemed representant of Justice and of the State, cannot forgive a crime that was never committed,” she looked sternly at Luyeour, then softened and gesticulated to the convict’s stand, where Emyr stood, pale and distant in a way that made him seem like a ghost. “What was that man doing in your flat?” she asked gently.

“He’s a friend. Was. Was a friend,” Luyeour rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “We were...” for a while, he met the other’s eyes, and he wasn’t sure he could even see him in there, “We were luzzurs,” he told at last.

“ _ Luzzurs _ ,” Livat echoed and leaned back in her chair with an air of afterthought. “Conservator. Do humour this court and give us all an explanation of what behaviour can be expected of a luzzur.”

“What behavior... can be expected of a luzzur,” Glain turned around to face the Archon at an angle that the cameras wouldn’t pick. His expression had turned a bit stiff for a moment, but he quickly recovered his more regal composure and twirled to offer himself better on display.

“Of course. Luzzurs-” he looked at the children witnessing the trial and spoke fondly as to educate them, “-are friends sharing a bond alike to that of siblings, members of a same family. As such, they are expected to be loyal to each others at all times. A luzzur will not conspire against the other, nor will he willingly and  _ knowingly  _ do something that would hurt the other in any way,” he told and glanced at Emyr for a moment. “Were harm to be done by error or a lack of foresight,” his gaze trailed back onto the Archon and to the children, “he will apologize, put all his efforts in righting what was wronged, and offer his support even without any insurance that the luzzurship might be preserved. Luzzurs give without calculations,” he tightened his lips and took a step back to embrace both the convict and the victim in sight.

“Emyr Tyjor knew that Luyeour Ador was working with scientists whose research could be lucrative, and he deliberately chose to break through encrypted PADDs to extract and steal data for his own gain, laying his name on the work of others. This foul trickery truly is made all the worse by this betrayal of luzzurship,” he gave a sententious look to Emyr. “And when he was caught in this shameful act of plundering... Tyjor, tell us what you did. What you did to your luzzur when he saw you with those PADDs you had no business messing with,” he required.

Only a glimmer of satisfaction in Livat’s eyes betrayed her as she slammed the rock at the wood, interrupting the criminal before he’d even started to speak.

“The court  _ dislikes _ this addressing of the convict out of order,” she chastised her Conservator. “He will have his moment in the confession stand in due time,” she purred further and leaned over her desk, expecting an apology.

“Absolutely,” her voice yanked Glain back into place, forcing a court bow out of him, “I beg the court’s pardon; this case seems to move my passion, but I’ll see to restrain its expression to the adequate moment,” he apologized in way to preserve his image while offering, he hoped, an appropriate backpedaling.

“Passion is a good driving force, Conservator,” the Archon smiled at last, “and this is, as I said, a kind and forgiving court,” she relaxed back in her seat and clinked her fingernails together. “Your Ador,” she turned to the witness, “would  _ you _ be as kind as to tell me what your luzzur did to you, when you caught him in the act of hacking and downloading the contents of those PADDs into a memory rod?”

“What?” Luyeour blinked back into reality, setting sore eyes on the Archon. What she had just said made no sense to him, “That’s not how it happened – I...” he looked wildly to Glain.

“How did it happen, Your Ador?” Livat asked calmly.

Luyeour’s forehead twitched, a frown settling under his scales, nagging at the corners of his eyes like tiny scratches.

“He read them while I had a shower, and when I came out he was...” he hesitated and blinked several times. Things were getting blurry in his head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Now, that was a termour of panic and the Archon nodded and straightened up.

“Those are rarely words that would be accepted under the oath of the tribunal, but in this case, they are a correct testament. His Ador doesn’t remember, because he has been made to forget – as will be explained by our next witness, Professor Rutang,” she looked at Ador and gave him a sage nod. “Your service to Justice has been duly recorded and appreciated. You may leave the courtroom – and we’re going to have a brief recess. Nine minutes,” she held up her fingers, and the cameras relaxed, as did Luyeour, who stumbled out of his seat to head out.

Glain glanced at the Archon before approaching Luyeour to offer support in case his footing got insecure.

“You did very well,” he smiled and offered him a tissue. “As I promise, it’ll soon be a new start for the both of you, and things will be better,” he escorted him out.

Nine minutes, he thought. That wasn’t a lot, and he had to hand himself to the formalist to check his looks and potentially refresh his hair and subtle ‘natural’ makeup a bit.

“I’ll see you seated in the witness’s room,” he decided that couldn’t take too long. “Do you have someone to take care of you after the trial is over?” he asked. “We usually have a Conservator-Archon debriefing, which can be a bit long ...I expect it might be a bit long,” he pressed his lips tight together. 

“Why do I not remember?” Luyeour asked instead, hushing his voice a little, “I’m not, I’m not like, sick or something? Why is there going to be a memory expert? What’s going on?”

Glain sat him on a chair, then sat himself by his side, taking a small moment to think.

“There are ways to make people forget things by just asking them to,” he finally answered. “People are made to forget things all the time and there’s nothing wrong with them ...and there’s, I guess, nothing wrong with forgetting when it comes to things that have become un-Cardassian. But what Emyr did… That was overstepping his authority. That was wrong. He tried to change your perception of what happened so you would fault yourself and not him. Didn’t work entirely that well, considering you no longer were friends in the end… There are things a man simply cannot erase so easily,” he pinched his lips. “You’re very kind, Leyour. That’s all there is to you,” he patted his lap.

Luyeour wasn’t sure what was the truth anymore – the claim that Emyr had  _ hacked _ his PADDs and downloaded them, it simply was so far fetched. Surely he’d remember something like that, surely it was quite too big to be erased. He asked about seeing the evidence, but of course, that could only happen through some administrative procedure, and although Glain offered to help with it, Luyeour figured he’d rather resume to a more comfortable and normal topic, by finally answering Glain’s earlier question: yes, there was someone to take care of him. He’d spend the rest of the week with his parents, in Torr. It’d be fine, he was certain.

“It’s good to take a little break first. If anything, when you’re ready, you know how to contact me,” he smiled and got up. “I better go to the formalist before he drags me out of here, and see if the Archon wants a word with me,” he excused himself and they parted.

And the formalist always had a little something to correct, especially when it came to Glain’s hair.

##  * * *

When the trial started again, it was with the Archon quickly going over what had happened so far, and then directing her attention to the witness stand.

“Professor Rutang,” she addressed the doctor, “this court welcomes your expertise on the workings of the Cardassian memory and the manipulation thereof. We will be taking your testament now,” she nodded to her and clasped her fingertips together.

“Thank you,” replied the little woman with her even-tinier voice. “We, Cardassians, are gifted with an impressive capability to remember things very precisely, due to the way our brain processes memory engrams – it’s to say, memories themselves. But this doesn’t mean we cannot fail to remember something. It’s also possible, with certain techniques, to create false memories or perceptions, and, with enough persuasion, to force someone to believe that those false memories are the real ones. It’s a bit like laying a curtain in front of a painting, and forcing the audience to believe that the curtain itself is the painting,” she tried to raise her voice a little because one of the operators was making signs at her to speak louder. “According to the evidence gathered about the present case, it appears very clear that His Tyjor used such persuasion on the victim, Ador, so the fault of the disappearing data would fall onto Ador instead,” she explained to her best, then glared at Emyr as threateningly as she could, although it was difficult for such a small woman with such a small voice to appear more than scolding. “It’s a very un-Cardassian thing to do that you did!” she trembled at him.

“That was a wonderful explanation that I believe anyone could understand,” the Archon praised quickly, as to cut short any further argument between the witness and the accused. “Thank you, Professor, for your presence. Conservator, Nestor, do either of you have any further questions for the witness?”

Both the Nestor and the Conservator declined, and the little lady was allowed out. Confession time was nearing, and Glain waited to be allowed to speak with his client, holding to his PADD.

“Your Tyjor,” Glain faced him, standing upright but with something more gentle in the posture of his neck and hands, “for public salute, would you please enlighten us about the reasons why you chose to betray your luzzur and steal this data from those who created it in the first place?”

“I needed for the company to do better, I needed a good deal,” he told weakly, “I saw a possibility to... to do a good deed for a good product, while at the same time compensating for this year’s bad results.”

“Can you explain how thirty-seven  _ billions _ of lek benefit, past taxes, family contribution, ethical sponsoring, and so on… is a bad result?” Glain required to know. “For whose profit was it, if not yours? Because it is a little hard to believe that anyone’s personal expenses can exceed thirty-seven billions of lek, even for the most eccentric ones of us.”

“Um, yes, I – it’s a bit different when you’re rich, you know,” Emyr tried to explain. “I have seven siblings. We’re expected to all strive to do better than one another; you don’t want to end up last. There used to be ten of us,” he pointed out with more seriosity, “but those three either did too poorly, or decided to go for careers with little to no profit, so they were disassociated from the family – I don’t want that to happen to me. Though, now it’s happened, because I did too poorly, because I made a bad investment and went for the wrong target, so I guess that’s... that’s how it is now.”

“Is the wrong target the product or your luzzur, Your Tyjor?” Glain raised an eyeridge, ridding emotions from his face in way to hide complete disapproval, as was proper.

“It wasn’t  _ his _ product,” Emyr pressed with a bit of urgency, “he was just proofreading for them – and besides, we gave each other gifts all the time. I especially extended my generosity to him, I  _ pampered _ him-” he interrupted himself and held his breath. “It was... a poor choice. I should’ve let him know what I was doing, maybe then he would’ve forgiven me, and none of this would’ve been necessary.”

Glain’s expression let show some contemplative distaste for a silent moment.

Then he took an inspiration: “Likely,” he confirmed. “So, you truly had no true interest in saving a product from a patent lockdown by a company about to get bankrupt, nor had you any real trust in His Ador – luzzurship,” Glain turned his face to the Archon for that parenthesis, “is sometimes, unfortunately, single-sided. As it would appear, Your Tyjor, you thought it could even be  _ bought _ . Do you still think that money can buy trust and adoration? That the world is yours for the taking so you can wave your status and richness as if it were the beginning and end of your entire person and personality? Are you willing to  _ become _ someone and  _ partake _ in society like a true Cardassian?” he asked.

Emyr shook his head and tried to decipher what had been asked, what had been said.

“I – I don’t understand what you mean,” he said weakly, “I never – he didn’t need to be – of course I want to be part of society,” he hugged himself and shrunk. That his family had left him behind was difficult to take in – that everything he’d ever been, everything he’d ever accumulated, might be lost was hard to accept. “I always try to be. ...Part of society.”

“And how would you define being part of society, Tyjor?” Glain stared at him. “How is skipping compulsory military trainings being part of society? How is stealing the work of others being part of society? Or what about companies that thrive plentifully off of the work of employees being largely underpaid in consideration to the benefits generated by their hard work? Are you even aware that some of those companies have been firing women for being  _ pregnant _ ? How is this Cardassian? And will you ever reckon all the bad you have done and apologize for it, or shall you continue to excuse  _ yourself _ and yourself only?”

“Too many questions at once,” the Archon decided and slammed the rock. “Conservator, please settle on one question – and make it relevant to this particular case,” she punctured with annoyance – this was getting to be long, and out of order.

“My apologies,” Glain reckoned meekly – now, this was an outburst he’d planned for. “Your Tyjor, you stand in this merciful court as convict… If you would like to apologize for your crimes, this would be the appropriate moment to do so.”

Emyr locked eyes at the edge of his seat. The words had broken him down and he didn’t want to be there anymore.

“I am sorry,” he said with a tiny voice, “I ask to be forgiven by this court, and to have my name cleansed.” At that, the Archon snorted.

“You will be the one to make us forgive you and to clean your name, although I really suggest taking a new one,” she advised and leaned forward. “What about your crime do you regret the most?” she asked with a dangerous glint to her smile.

“All of it,” answered Emyr automatically.

“The court will only accept a specific answer to a specific question,” Livat reminded swiftly.

“I regret that I... that I stole the work of others?” Emyr guessed that it was the most Cardassian answer, which it was, except it wasn’t honest.

“Perhaps you do, but it isn’t what you regret the most,” Livat pointed out rather coldly. “Conservator,” she whipped out, “if you were to wager a guess, what do you think he regrets the most about his crime?”

“Although His Tyjor was misguided as to how friends and luzzurs are acquired, I believe he truly had a connection with His Ador, and will forever mourn to have broken that which was the most unique, precious and irreplaceable – a loyal friend,” Glain answered with modesty tainted by a bit more emotion than he’d wished to show. He silenced himself and simply looked at Emyr, as to ask for confirmation.

The Archon smirked at that, and before Emyr could answer she shook her head.

“That  _ would _ be the concern of a kind-hearted man, but I believe that what His Tyjor regrets the most about his crime, is that he got caught for it,” she nodded to herself, “That is true, yes?”

“Yes,” Emyr darkened with even more shame.

“And do you not, above all, regret that you are guilty of what you committed?” she asked further, and he nodded. “That is a regret he shares with many of his kind, and a regret that he’ll find will be turned into gratefulness as he starts his rehabilitation within the Military, where he will be welcome to become a valuable member of the Cardassian society. One day, Your Tyjor,  _ we _ shall be the ones to look at you with gratefulness for what you sacrifice for the Union and the people of the Union. But for now, it is my delight to sentence you to three years of Military rehabilitation and reintegration. May you serve the State well.”

She ended the trial with a joyful smile to the camera, and as soon as the cameras stopped rolling – after Emyr had been escorted out by two guards – she leaned back in her seat with a heavy sigh.

“I thought it would never end,” she griped, “what  _ was _ that speech of yours, Rokat?”

“My life insurance,” he smiled back at her, although it was a cramped smile. “I expect to be a bit more popular after tonight, which is always valuable when defacing Barvonok,” he briefly explained. “An exhausting trial…” he commented further. “Do you want to debrief now or…?” he asked, a large part of him hoping she’d rather keep it for the next day.

“Now,” decided Livat with force, crossing her arms over her chest, “or rather, perhaps in half an hour – I don’t know about you, but I could really use a slice of fruit to improve my mood. I hate rich people trials,” she admitted with a disgusted expression, “it’s like they’re living on another planet entirely, it’s really difficult to make any sort of sense out of light sentences when it comes to their kind. I mean – I pride myself on my intuitive character, but I honestly don’t think I felt anything at all for him.  _ You _ made a more convincing convict than him,” she gesticulated to Glain, “now that was a true display of shame and regret.”

Glain darkened in said shame and diverted his eyes, taking a step back.

“If… if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on my curls,” he blubbered and left the room a bit hurriedly, promising he’d be back in half an hour. Although, he did not go to the formalist. Instead, he strode off while texting on his PADD, and went straight for the transportation hub, where he required to be beamed away at a specific address that wasn’t his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	41. V - Nefarious Night

#  Nefarious night

As he reappeared in front of the building, Glain had a moment of shivering. He didn’t dare to ring at the door, but didn’t need to – Iltarel came out first and the two men looked at each other, uncertain of how to act at first. But their bodies were both so heavy with transparent emotions than they didn’t have to say a word. Before he knew, Glain was hugging his friend close, and strong arms wrapped back around him.

“I miss you so much…” he murmured in a whimper.

“I… I miss you too,” Iltarel admitted with a slightly strangled voice.

Glain sniffled.

“Is… is Dayar here?” he asked.

“Inside. I think you can come in, but I must warn you that Demeny found the trial very entertaining and interesting –” Glain snorted.

“He certainly would,” he groaned and let Iltarel lead him upstairs into the flat.

Glain looked around and at the two men there, feeling as if things weren’t entirely real – it was still difficult to accept that Iltarel had moved in with his shamar and his shamar’s uncle, even if that was probably for the best. That he’d live in the home of such a disorderly man, still…

“I…” he started and cleared his throat, trying to make eye contact although his face was trying to hide, “I’m sorry to intrude, I… won’t be long; I need to return to the Ministry soon,” he started, then gulped, and restarting was even more difficult. “I’m sorry, I… I wasn’t in a good place that night. I tried to drink it all away as much as I could, for the party’s sake and… All I wanted was to help my  _ friends _ ,” his voice cracked a bit and he had to steel himself. “I’m so sorry, so so sorry,” he bowed, which was a good way too, to hide the wetness coating his eyes. He didn’t want to be in those memories again. They hurt too much and Delna had warned him against them since he had such issues not following the slippery slope to the memory of the Gebalt Hill.

“I cared for both Iltarel and you ...for all the good that did,” Glain bowed deeper and shut his eyes as tight as the knot his throat was tying itself into, “and I’m so, so guilty…!”

Dayar watched with some scepsis. He was about certain that Glain was sorry that he’d hurt his luzzur, yes, but whether or not that made him someone to  _ trust  _ and  _ rely on _ was something else. He didn’t have the time to answer, however, as Demeny came up behind him, drumming his knuckles in merry delight.

“That was one of the best trials I’ve ever seen!” he congratulated, “And it certainly makes up for the last one – why don’t you come on in? We’ve got some leftover sem’hal stew – fish-and-redberry flavoured, I invented it myself. And oh – fresh Tarkalean tea that I managed to make a good deal on. There  _ might _ also be dessert, if you plan on staying around – you need to tell me all about this trial of yours, Glain Rokat – did Mekora discuss her plan with you prior to it? Or were you as delightfully unprepared as you appeared?”

Dayar wilted a bit at his uncle’s excitement, but stepped out of the way and gestured for the guest to come inside.

“I’d like a word in private,” he stated without much emotion.

“As you wish,” he answered to Dayar – at least, Demeny’s blasting overjoy did a good job at triggering Glain’s instinct to shield his emotions and retrieve composure, although his eyes were still a bit shiny. “I’m afraid I cannot stay too long however,” he warned for both he and Demeny, “I have to debrief with Archon Livat in a bit less than half an hour – and no, there was no plan,” he glumly shot at Demeny as he followed Dayar into what must be the young man’s room. Iltarel had already brought in a few things, and Glain couldn’t decide if that felt good or bad. Probably both.

While they walked into the room, Dayar’s attention got snatched by his PADD, which buzzed discreetly at him in announcement that he’d gotten a message. He was swift to answer it, and whoever was on the other end was swift to message him back.

“I don’t know how else to say it, so I’ll be blunt: if Mekora thinks that you should be forgiven, I’ll forgive you. But if you act on poor judgement again, if you hurt Iltarel again, then you’ll have no chances left as far as I’m concerned,” he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame with a dark look at Glain, who barely had any time to answer before his PADD hummed too, with a message from Livat, telling him that the meeting had been postponed to  _ after _ the weekend, due to a family emergency. She hadn’t specified  _ whose _ family.

There were no such coincidences, of course, and Glain stared at his PADD for a moment, then shut his eyes tight again, humming to himself mentally to keep his focus.

“You don’t know me very well,” he rasped painfully, “and  _ that _ is probably for the better. The Glain Rokat you first met is best forgotten and I’m sorry you had to meet him and suffer him,” he formed his apology and took a deeper breath to still himself. “I present you my deepest regrets, Your Edar. I have made a promise to conform and I fully intend on holding it, because I know it is the only way I can ever help those around me whom I count as family and friends. I wish the best to Iltarel, but also to you, and ...I would like to know you better, because Iltarel likes you ...and because I would like to stop being reminded of a dear friend of mine when I look at you. I would rather see you for who you are, and see you living a happy life.”

“I wish I could be seen for who I am,” Dayar snarked, perhaps a little bit too fast, then blew some air through his nose. “If it weren’t for how happy you make Iltarel, I wouldn’t really care to have you here. But I’m not an idiot, I know that a shamar will always lose to the luzzur, so I’m not even going to try,” he turned around. “And as a fair warning,” he added in a more hushed voice, “the stew is really, really spicy, so you’ll want to add some fish milk before you eat it.”

“I... I have to ask Delna if I’m allowed to stay,” Glain blurted a bit. “She needs to know if... for the food,” he fumbled a bit with his words and with his PADD, not really knowing how to phrase or explain the situation – too many words; he had to keep things simple and down to the essentials.

“Edar,” he called him before he might get out, “I ignored you knew anyone at the Ministry. I’m sorry, I really had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t know. And don’t go blaming Mekora,” he continued, “What truly happened is that you were so arrogant that you couldn’t fathom that maybe someone else were more qualified to solve the situation than you. No one should have to write on their chufa who they know and don’t know just to avoid the arrogance of the one,” he wet his lower lip. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention my ties with her to anyone. We are not supposed to have contact at all,” he turned around and looked at Glain with a bit of uncertainty. “We used to be shamars,” he thought he’d explain, “then she started courting a real man, and we decided it was for the best that I removed myself from her official vesala, and vice versa. If you want me to trust you, you’ll keep this to yourself. Take it as a challenge.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Glain nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for you it turned out that way. And you’re right, I was arrogant.” He thought to try and explain a bit, tell some more about himself, but shook his head. “There’s no point nor use in justifying myself; in the end, it’s my fault and I only hope I’ll know better from now on. I’m a bit scared,” he admitted. “I hadn’t planned on living, and now I have all those responsibilities and I’m no longer sure I’m anything but ill-equipped to fulfill them. Yet I have to try. Giving the best is the minimum a Cardassian can give,” he quoted sorely. “Perhaps it would be best if I left; I don’t want this to be about me, and spicy food makes me cry; it will be a disaster,” he nervously fidgeted his PADD, hoping Delna would answer and save him somehow. He truly and completely felt in enemy territory, and he needed to return to his comfort zone.

“You’re being arrogant again,” Dayar observed without as much judgement as he  _ could  _ and perhaps  _ should _ have had. “You want perfectly good food to go to waste just because you’re a bit sensitive? And to think that just moments ago, you held that lovely speech about the spoiled, abusive ways of the rich people,” he raised an eyeridge. “I quite liked it. But you need to live it to convince me that it’s not just sentiment speaking.”

“I wasn’t the one who cooked more than was needed, nor am I one to shun leftovers,” Glain defended himself with a bit more energy than he’d meant to. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been most sparing these past years,” he gesticulated at his body, “and all I couldn’t eat was always eaten by others.” Sulek Maten especially, and he was the rounded heaven Glain wasn’t.

“Uncle didn’t cook more than needed though,” Dayar corrected with a contrastingly kind smile, “you’re here, aren’t you? Somehow, Demeny always knows how many to cook for,” he hinted with some amusement, then turned and pressed the door opened.

“I’m glad you appreciated my speech,” Glain switched the topic to something a bit more pleasant as they left the room, although he spoke with a bit of grudge in his voice. “That makes at least one person who liked it.”

“I think it’s likely to be a success with a lot of people. People grow more and more disgruntled – the economy was already pretty bad but it’s not growing as much as it should, and I think we all know who is to blame for that.”

In the dining room, Demeny welcomed them both with literally open arms, wearing an apron to signify his function.

“Welcome, Conservator,” he chimed with much more enthusiasm than was necessary, “Iltarel is in the kitchen preparing the dessert,” he winked at Dayar and pulled a chair out for Glain. “Have a seat, have a – what do they call it? Moba fruit? Fresh from the import hall. It’ll help take the edge off of the soup.”

“Thank you,” Glain did as he was expected to, trying not to look too impressed. At least, Demeny was doing a good enough job in being, ah, friendly. Friendlier than how Glain recalled him in their previous encounters. “Moba has become very Cardassian, at least for those who can afford it,” he commented in soft neutrality. “I’ve never had it outside of costly restaurants – our housekeeper has an undying grudge against everything Bajoran,” he shared in a tone that suggested something best not to inquire further about. “What I mean is, thank you for your generosity, Chief Editor,” he gave a little bow, using the other’s title in reciprocity. “So, you liked my speech too?”

“I liked  _ everything _ ,” Demeny burst with enthusiasm and sat down. “Someone should remake it into a play – it’s almost an enigma tale. Think of it, Glain, you’d get royalties: you were part of it – two trials at the same time! Perhaps even three, if you count the crushed heart of that Ador boy,” he shook his head and gripped at his glass of water. “It was  _ the most entertaining trial _ that has aired in quite some while – light-hearted yet dealing with serious topics, witty, mysterious and  _ humorous.  _ If it would’ve been submitted to my desk as a work of fiction, I would’ve published it in a heartbeat. Now,” he sobered a bit, “you should prepare yourself for this one trial to get  _ a lot of publicity _ , more than you’ve accounted for. And your speech is only part to blame – don’t just stand there, Dayar, get a seat,” he gesticulated to an empty chair, and Dayar planted himself in it. “If you keep on delivering this level of quality, you’ll remake and redefine the Rokat family name altogether –  _ as it should be _ . Each generation must set their definition to their name,” he lifted the glass in a silent cheer, and then drank from it.

Another time (which is to say, before having had to witness against Iltarel), Glain might have blushed at that praise, but as he was currently, he nodded sheepishly at it.

“I have yet to know what my father will think of it, if he cares to...” he cleared his voice to interrupt that improper line of thought. “I did count on the publicity,” he continued instead. “Partly as a life insurance, in case Barvonok people might think of hindering my career somehow,” he gave a small nod. “I think the working class needs more voice. And diversity itself too, because Cardassia  _ is _ diverse, whether we want it or not, and... too many people are lost, constantly. Their potentials are ignored or left undeveloped because funds and appreciation are lacking, while the rich and old dynasties rule unquestioned, feeding off their legacy without feeding  _ us _ back. And I say that as someone who is part of a dynasty – and sometimes I wish I weren’t, because I-” he had to catch himself, “...because that in itself hasn’t brought me the nicest things in life,” he settled on saying instead. “I’m very privileged, but I think there is more value in what one grows on their own than on simply having, being given and keeping. We all need to give, and clearly, those who hold the more riches are giving the least, proportionally speaking, and that is un-Cardassian. It shouldn’t be un-Cardassian to just point it out,” he added.

Demeny let through some surprise.

“This kind of idealism is dangerous, Glain Rokat, and while I appreciate your words as entertainment – do you really want to die an idealist? Are you sure you’re not feeling this way  _ because _ you are part of a dynasty? Afraid that none of your accomplishments are truly your own? Afraid that no matter what you do, you can’t take credit for it, because circumstances dictated more than your skills?” He blew some air and shook his head. “I can’t say what would’ve become of you if you weren’t a Rokat. I think you should be grateful that you are, instead of vainly wishing you were no one, when there are so many who wished they were someone. Wear your name with pride – your sense of accomplishment is just vanity,” he warned and poured himself some more water, “but it  _ is _ typical of you native upper class people to glorify the success of the underdog. You think it’s admirable and cute when someone beats the odds, you like stories portraying that sort of stuff: they sell the best – but you only like it if these individuals are few enough to be extraordinary. Were they to get more plentiful... that’s what your kin fears. And I believe, in a sense, you too fear it. You just don’t know it yet.”

“I don’t have a satisfactory answer to that,” Glain replied and took another bite of moba (he’d tried the stew while Demeny was speaking and was doing his best not to let the spice get the best of him). “I guess that’s what I complain about: the lack of self-insight plaguing us. Maybe that’s not all bad, though. Maybe it simply means we need to listen more to those who have what we lack, so we can provide what they lack. That’s what our society is all about, supposedly,” he said quietly. “But if my words give you anything to worry about, we can always ban the topic – this is your home, after all, and I wouldn’t want to make it a darker place,” he reckoned, flushing a bit from the heat of the food. In a way, it was a good thing that the stew was so strong, because it did force a taste onto Glain’s tastebuds, which were somewhat dulled by his ongoing depression.

“You’re a very good cook, Edar,” he thought to comment. “I apologize for spoiling the meal with my inappropriate wording. I hope you’ll forgive me. Maybe I’m not someone you wish to have at your table after all – I think you always knew that,” he argued with sad eyes. “I’m afraid that trial was more pleasant from the outside, and it really can be difficult to be joyful within a home.”

“Oh, there’s always a cloud on my sky, casting relief and shadow wherever I walk,” Demeny shrugged. “I welcome the respite, although I beware not to play with the bolts of lightning. Most people never get struck, but those who do, usually only get struck once,” he sipped his water. “Maybe you should go help Iltarel with the dessert, he’s-”

“-I’ll go,” Dayar volunteered and rose up so hastily that his chair had to fight the urge to fall over, “you cannot interrupt a man in his dinner,” he specified with a nod to Glain, and hurried into the kitchen.

“He really doesn’t trust me, does he?” Glain commented when Dayar was out of earshot. “I don’t blame him,” he added quickly with desinvolture. Yet, it hurt in a way, and he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone would ever trust him again – if people knew how he got Emyr into trial, nobody would dare talking to him ever more. Glain froze at that, and slowly put down the spoon he’d gathered. He’d felt alone during the past years, but at least, he had friends he could relax around with. Now... His throat tied onto itself and it was getting more and more obvious that he was trying very hard not to cry.

“Please... don’t think me to be ungrateful of the great dinner you provide,” he uttered, speaking distinctly to try and control his voice, “I just have... had issues to ingest much anything lately,” he laid forth the euphemism.

Demeny looked at Glain with an expression of  _ oh, you poor thing,  _ then got up to lay his hands on the other’s shoulders, eventually hugging him and rocking him a bit.

“It’s not that he doesn’t trust you,” he explained carefully, “it’s that you’re Iltarel’s luzzur. You know him in a way no one else does. Of course it’s going to scare him – he doesn’t want to lose his shamar. And he  _ knows _ Iltarel has been unhappy without you, and it hurts him and scares him that it’s been an unhappiness he couldn’t solve. Feeling incomplete and insufficient does drive a person to fear.”

“I... feel the same about him...” Glain laid a hand on Demeny’s arm, indulging in the softness and letting a few silent tears escape from his eyes. “I’m terrified... what if he tries to... remove himself from this world? What will happen to Iltarel?” he shared his worry. “I don’t want that to happen... I want to help him if I can. I don’t want to see him like I saw Lukor,” he gulped hard. “Iltarel knows nothing of those things; he thinks love is all Dayar needs, but I know it’s not true,” Glain mopped his eyes a bit. “I want them to be happy and alive... They... they’re beautiful together. It sickens me, but they’re beautiful... I just... feel so left out and powerless, and I don’t know how to fix that because... They don’t need me as much as I do. They have each other, they don’t need me yet they do, they just don’t know ...or don’t care...” That thought was even worse for one who yearned to belong again.

Demeny sighed and rubbed Glain’s cheek free from liquid.

“A good bed has room for  _ at least  _ three,” he told him. “I think the only way for you and Dayar not to fear each other would be to turn fear into desire. That, or increase your trust in Iltarel some more – as for self-murder...” he sighed, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think Dayar would try that. He’s been fighting to stay alive through a lot of ordeals – he was close to dying once before, and he came back from that – stronger and more determined. Don’t underestimate his will to stay alive.”

“I wouldn’t have underestimated Lukor’s either...” Glain replied, then looked up at the Editor with a tint of childish confusion in the eye. “I don’t think they would like what you suggest, and it’s... very disorderly. ...Fun and nice,” he reckoned, “but really very disorderly,” he sighed in distant contemplation of the idea. “Also, I promised to my uncle to stay abstinent, and... it’s important that I keep that promise. Delna thinks so and she knows what’s good for me,” he smiled a little.

“Do you remember moments ago, when you spoke of family names and people succeeding despite having no legacy?” Demeny pointed with some amusement: “I certainly didn’t get to be Chief Editor by being orderly, ironic as it is. If you really want to know what it’s like to climb from the ground and up, you’re going to have to get used to getting out of your comfort zone and explore what carries risks. Besides, I’m not suggesting you just walk in there and ask them if they want to have sex with you,” he chuckled a bit at the idea. “No, no you’ll have to work for it, like the rest of us. You need to make luzzurs – perhaps even shamars – out of them both. Now that is a bold goal, isn’t it?”

Glain remained silent and contemplative a moment. It was difficult not to think of the sexual fantasies he’d had about Dayar every now and then, especially that one time with the comfort woman. Those latter memories painted a fine coat of heat and shame on his neck, until he realized he wasn’t actually that ashamed.

“It’s a very attractive nephew that you have,” he confessed after checking that nobody was coming back from the kitchen, “too bad you didn’t want me to flirt with him,” he squinted. “Iltarel has endured my antics, he’s endured seeing me preying on men, but he’s endured only because he wished to find his own love. And who am I to rob him of the orderly love life he wants?”

“The world isn’t made of easy answers, everyone’s a little flexible when it suits their whims – you once asked me for allowance to  _ get to know _ my nephew. Who am I to spoil the endeavour?” Demeny returned as quizzically. “And besides, what you’ll find out might not necessarily reflect my personal knowledge. Now,” he let go and straightened up, “maybe they need help with the dessert, they’ve been in there for a while.”

“They have,” Glain agreed and got up.

What they could hear as they neared the kitchen was Iltarel’s voice.

“...not a choice I’ll ever make, because it stands no reason. You have nothing to fear-” he interrupted himself. What he’d meant to say was that he loved his shamar and his luzzur in ways that warranted them both the loyalty one gave to family, and that he’d make sure to make both parts get along. Dayar likely got the point. For the other two, it was probably a bit more cryptic.

“Going well?” Demeny sunnily wondered as Dayar hurried to pick a bowl from the counter, starting to whip its contents. “Looks like you could use another hand – too bad I have such a cramped kitchen. It’s good for three, but four is a crowd – I’ll go get the dishes,” he poofed conveniently, leaving Glain behind.

“You can stir the topping,” instructed Dayar, pointing at a pot sitting on the ancient stove.

“Your orders, chef,” Glain answered diligently and got to working – it was, at least, a task he was very good at, and it made him smile a bit. “Do you want it rather hard?”

“Glain…” Iltarel groaned.

“What?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Glain winced at him and Iltarel stared back, a flicker of surprise on his face, followed by a shade of shame. That was when Glain understood. “Oooh… You thought I-”

“-The proper word is  _ thick _ , not hard,” Iltarel tried to cover up.

“It can be both, Your Jarad, and I’m talking about my whipping, I assure you,” Glain replied pointedly and looked at Dayar. “A curse it is, when your closest friends think you to be more perverted than you are. I think he just uses me as a mirror to reflect his own frustration – why, I thought that being with you would allow him to find himself some more rather than project even more onto others,” he sighed. “On a nicer note, Iltarel, I think I might take up your advice at last and start training. I’m really lacking strength and that can come at a serious disadvantage while in a holding cell with a convict,” he made a bit of a face as a hint that  _ something _ happened. “Maybe you could come too,” he looked at Dayar. “If you don’t want to train, you can look – it’s extremely disorderly, all those men getting shouted at by an angry woman alike to a military Archon,” he painted the scene and Iltarel made a face of outrage.

“You can’t say that!”

“That does sound disorderly,” Dayar agreed with a bit of a squint, “maybe I should start going, too – although I guess I’m not allowed those kind of activities anymore. Which only leaves  _ one _ other option:  _ I _ could come shout at you,” he shot a glance in the general direction of Iltarel’s ass, “would you like that?”

Iltarel snorted in laughter, not really managing to look outraged.

“I don’t think Glain would be allowed either, honestly – he’s too unfit –” he ignored Glain’s outraged “ _ how rude _ ” and went on: “and if you both end up shouting at me, there’s no saying you won’t end up shouting at each other instead and  _ that _ would be even more disorderly.”

At that Glain laughed.

“Would it be bad?” he asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “By your logic I’m bound to stick to swimming. But I suppose neither of you would like to join me in that activity,” he sighed. “Unless I’m mistaken.”

“Most public baths have gender segregation these days,” Dayar chimed in on that topic, starting to mix powdered sugars into the blended eggs, “and the ones that don’t, are considered disorderly in themselves. It wouldn’t surprise me if they actually  _ were _ disorderly as well, you know,” he poured a thin slick of black Kanar in the foam, stirring it once to make pretty stripes, and then started portioning the fluff into glass bowls. “You can add the sauce when it’s thickened about twice as much as it is now.”

Glain looked at the bowls with slight embarrassment, then realized his attitude might seem offensive.

“P-please,” he caught himself, “not too much for me – I quit Kanar,” he explained.

“You what?” Iltarel looked at him like he’d just said the most nonsensical thing ever.

“I said I quit. I want to stay lucid and look at the face of life. You can’t really argue that things couldn’t be better for all of us if I’d quit earlier,” he pointed and Iltarel didn’t reply.

“I know it’s only just a little,” he added to Dayar, “but I don’t want to stray if I can. I need to hold to my resolutions and promises.” He had to hold to  _ something _ . “Also, there are non-gendered swimming pools that aren’t disorderly. I’ll admit I haven’t frequented those as much as the more disorderly ones, but I know some nice places meant for exercise, relaxation and water therapy. It’s… very calm,” he recalled a bit distantly. “There are fishes too, but not in the swimming water. It’s… very pretty.”

“How un-Cardassian,” Dayar muttered, not that he cared much about standards, other than when Glain was the one breaking them, “– not drinking kanar, I mean. Is it because of the trial?” he guessed and dug into a cupboard, “Wasn’t he the heir to the family that invented Kanar or something? Afraid they’ll poison your next glass in retaliation?”

Glain snorted.

“I’ll tell you, but don’t repeat it,” he decided to share that since Dayar had shared something sensitive too. “I’ve been feeding on Kanar more than on food these past years, and I’d rather not end up a nasty, child-beating man like my great-grandfather and my grandfather. And I’d rather not cause any more harm. You’re right, it’s because of the trial, only not that of tonight… I’m… so sorry,” it was hard not to cry again. “I think this is ready,” he handed over his bowl almost as a diversion.

Dayar took a pan and shook his head a little while he poured the sauce over the dessert foam. The smell soon shifted to something sweet and fruity, and he proceeded to stick a spoon into each serving. He didn’t exactly react to Glain’s words.

“There, that should be done. I’ll take the tray,” he decided and did so, leading the way out – or so he hoped, he didn’t particularly want the two of them to stay in the kitchen all alone.

In Dayar’s back, Glain looked at Iltarel, eyes clearly waiting for something. Iltarel looked back at him but followed his shamar. Then stopped, shook his head and looked back at his luzzur again, eyes asking “what do you want, Glain Rokat?”

At that, Glain sweetened into something sad but soft and came closer, waiting for a praise. He got a pat on the hair and imagined Iltarel kissed him too, first on the chufa, then on the lips. That would have been a great comfort. He gave his luzzur a small tired nod and they went on their way, silent and synchronized, although not as deeply so as they once were, Glain knew.

“You walk at a new pace,” he commented discreetly. “That suits you.”

Iltarel didn’t answer, but Glain knew to read his silences of approval and appreciation, and they sat.

“Do you want to come home to me?” he asked Dayar. “I mean, not where I currently dwell – uncle Enjam and Delna would need to approve first – no, I mean my father’s home. Where the holorecorder and projectors are. I believe you were interested to see Iltarel do what he excels at.”

While the boy settled at the table, Demeny took the chance to flee the room to do the dishes, flashing an encouraging smile at Glain as he passed him.

“I... need to think about it,” Dayar answered hesitantly and looked over at Iltarel. Things were going too fast for him, and he didn’t particularly feel like jumping straight into Glain’s territory. “My schedule is a bit busy, and I’m working on a new project...”

“You’re always working,” Glain cut off, “I’d know, I defragmented the entire building,” he reminded him. “Don’t be afraid, honestly; Iltarel was almost like a second child at times, and he knows the house. Keelani probably will be around, and as for me, I’ll be out of the way – you’re not the only one who’s got work to do,” he pointed with his spoon. “Having a vesala of archivists has great benefits, but sometimes it’s payback time,” he sighed, “and that tends to mean lots of coding…”

Dayar wished that Glain would’ve granted him the grace of the non-offensive way to decline, and made a surly expression, finally lifting his own spoon to ruffle through the bubbles of his dessert.

“What I mean is, I believe it wouldn’t be appropriate,” he clarified and watched the egg scum glisten, “neither for me, nor for Iltarel. At least not right now.”

“Why so?” asked Iltarel, his voice calm and non-judgemental. He had thoughts of his own about the entire thing, but he wasn’t going to disclose them just right away. At least not before Dayar detailed his own ideas.

Dayar stiffened a bit –  “Because I just don’t feel like going from knowing what he caused to being his best friend because he just realized how many regrets he has,” he looked sternly at Iltarel, “and neither should you, regardless of whether he’s your luzzur or not.”

“I believe I’m the one who caused my own consequences, and I’m not sure that blaming Glain will be therapeutic,” Iltarel answered. “I know what he’s capable of, and I’d rather he stays a lawful servant of Cardassia. If that takes for me to grant some whims of his, then that is good and reasonable.” He extended his hand to Dayar, stroking his gently. “If he’ll be out of the way, what harm is there in accepting, shamar? It’s more generous of him than it seems, and I don’t know how long that offer might exist at all without having to entirely buy the hardware from Nall.”

“Now what does  _ that _ mean?” Glain reacted.

“Simply that that house is getting emptier by the day,” Iltarel kept enigmatic and that was now something Glain didn’t want to try and decipher.

“I suppose it doesn’t hurt to talk about it with Delna and Enjam – it’d make good sense for him to require the recorder from Nall. Then he and Delna can record each other to have long-distance lifelike couple arguments with a holosync com program,” he figured instead. “But then the hardware would be at Enjam’s and if you were to come there, you can’t be allergic to cats, because he has five of them.”

Dayar, who recalled the Enkem incident vividly, refrained from commenting on the suggestion.

“I just don’t want to go,” he declined instead, and retrieved his hand. “If you want to go visit Glain’s place so badly, go! Do whatever you want, but don’t drag me into it. I’ll go where I’m comfortable going.”

“Of course,” Iltarel nodded, “and that is perfectly sound and reasonable.”

“I don’t want to intrude in your couple…” Glain said sheepishly, “I just… I just need my friend. I’m sorry to be so inconvenient,” he apologized again.

“You’re not-” Iltarel tried but Glain shook his head more annoyedly.

“-I am. I’m a threat. Threats  _ are _ inconvenient,” he argued. “I only wish that weren’t what he sees me as. But I guess that might be part of how I could empathize with Leyour so much and so fast,” he nodded. “It is a terrible thing to lose all trust from someone, and rebuilding such when it’s broken is seldom ever achieved. I hope his reputation will at least be restored…” he looked at his dessert and focused on it because Iltarel was looking at him with his “Glain Rokat, you are hopeless” look.

“Luyeour?” Dayar blurted with disbelief and wide eyes. “The witness?” he continued, already imagining all that indecent Conservator/Civilian smut that one could write based on such a pairing, “Don’t tell me you did  _ that? _ ”

“I didn’t;  _ I promised my uncle to stay abstinent, _ ” Glain stammered as an explanation. “But he’s rather sweet and if we can’t be lovers, I wish we can at least be friends,” he noticed that Iltarel stiffened just a bit for a split-second. “ _ Emyr _ however,” he groaned after a spoon of dessert, “now  _ that one _ , oh…” the groan turned into a growl. “He got  _ that close _ ,” he showed a small distance between his fingers, “from getting a much harsher sentence.” He silenced a moment, weighing whether to tell or not. The gleam in Dayar’s eyes had him opt to go on: “When he realized he was to spend several years in the military, surrounded by forbidden males, he assaulted  _ me. _ In the holding cell! And what a hold,” he winced. “He was much stronger than me; he kissed me, I bit him, he didn’t care, I had to grip him in the neck with my nails to finally get away from his indecent hands,” he darkened in a mixture of offense and shame. “If I didn’t know how to pinch like that, I’m not sure what more would’ve happened, considering the intern was too busy playing on his PADD to notice anything until I screamed at him.”

“That explains why you weren’t doing much Conservation,” Dayar concluded at last. “See, Iltarel? Didn’t I tell you something was off? You focused almost entirely on the witness, and nothing on getting sympathy for the criminal.”

“Yes!” Demeny chimed from the doors, “Such a trial, so many layers... ah, yes, the dishes,” he disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving it a riddle how long he’d been there already.

“Don’t you spread that!” Glain shouted after him.

“Aren’t you sure you weren’t a bit flattered, still?” Iltarel winced at him.

“To be assaulted by a despicable idiot who thinks he can just buy himself a shamar, betray him and get away with it? I don’t see how there’s anything flattering about that,” Glain winced back. “It  _ wasn’t _ like Ijadir and Teremal,” he could figure exactly  _ which book _ his friend was thinking about in the back of his mind, and Iltarel reacted with a sudden blush of offense. “Ha!” Glain accused.

No, really. Teremal was an intelligent woman, cunning and charismatic, enigmatic and enticing. Emyr was nothing like her. And Ijadir was a sheepish man from the lower middle class, sponsored into studies. A Conservator in need of reassurance. Glain was nothing like him either.

“ _ Ijadir and Teremal? _ ” Dayar echoed with a perplexed expression, “Who?”

“Tomoe Vidak,  _ Confessions of a Conservator _ ,” Demeny informed as he came back into the room, wiping his hands on his apron with an amused look, “classic work of romance: beautiful prose, disorderly scenes, especially in the First Edition – I have a paper copy of the full draft somewhere in the junk room. Probably in the blue box that says ‘disorderly but delicious’, next to the crate of ‘ridiculous poems no one wants to read’,” he gave Iltarel a wink.

“It’s a very good book,” Iltarel defended while shame painted him a darker shade.

“One of your best reads yet,” Glain instinctively attacked, although smoothly. “I take it it’s one of the books Tasandine passed you?” he raised an eyeridge then looked at Dayar to explain: “It’s good that you and your uncle know about good literature, because Iltarel really needs to be handed good works, or to be explained what about them is good – when I gave him  _ Temak or the Night _ ,” he picked the example, because that was a most excellent intrigue with sublime writing blending trivia and suave or refined poetry, “he couldn’t see what about it was so mesmerizing.  _ I _ think it’s a masterpiece, inspiring and vibrant with finely woven struggles and strength. Iltarel said it was both too realistic and unrealistic and he couldn’t see the point of the book,” he rolled his eyes. “Instead, he genuinely liked  _ Chronoton Whispers _ .”

“You liked it too!” Iltarel stammered rather than denied.

“It was hilariously bad,” Glain agreed and shrugged. “I read it three times – it’s pretty entertaining in between sessions of coding, and humour gives me life. You’re much better at enjoying colors than words, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, mind you. But truly, I envy your being with a man who can write so ...entrancingly well,” he settled on that adjective and looked at Dayar again. “Because you  _ do _ have great talent, the sort that feels like a raw instinct that had to be honed into a refined gem, still bearing a dangerous sharpness in its edges. Your words are vessels to transport the soul into a trip across time and space; they wrap around the readers like a dance of whirling silks woven of plot threads, glimmering in the dark like thin strands of hope and emotion whipping the black maws of life.”

The praise flew way past Dayar’s ears and Demeny saved him the effort of answering by concurring to Glain’s opinion on  _ Chronoton Whispers _ .

“Now that _ is _ terribly poor quality,” he agreed with a bit of regret and an apologetic look toward Iltarel. “Did you know the author tried to publish a second novel in that series? They had a whole plot laid out, even managed to send a lineout, and then they vanished. Turns out, they weren’t a real person – I’m not allowed to say who they really are, but let’s just say that if people knew, they’d be endlessly amused.”

“A military would be my bet – because Iltarel loves them,” Glain sighed and relaxed in his chair, contemplating his nearly-empty dessert cup, ignoring his luzzur’s look of disapproval. His frustration was building up as he was finding it increasingly difficult to cope with things that weren’t going his way, and it felt like there were many of those lately. With the publicity he was about to get from the trial, he figured it would probably be good to spare himself for what was to come.

“I should get going soon,” he peeped. “I appreciate your hospitality,” he told to Demeny, because he didn’t really feel like he got that much of that from Dayar, what with how guarded the young man was, “but I’m afraid I need to retreat to my room, which is currently in Akleen.”.

“With all the militaries,” Demeny chuckled with a cheeky smirk. “Maybe Iltarel should go visit you-”

“-If he goes, I’ll go too,” Dayar hurried to add, trying to act as if he actually enjoyed the idea of going.

“Careful there, Your Broca,” Demeny hinted, which gained him Dayar’s darkest look, before the young man just got up from his chair, took his bowl, and retreated into the kitchen.

Glain sighed and got up to take his bowl to the kitchen as well, although he half-regretted it when he realized that meant he was now in the same room as Dayar. That made for an awkward moment and eventually he decided to speak his heart out.

“Please, don’t turn out like Emyr. I understand how precious Iltarel is to you, but so he is to me as well. I won’t try to steal him from you or ...I don’t know what you fear,” he twirled to face Dayar. He looked at him for a second and took his hands to fully get his attention, even if that was a bit disorderly.

“I want the two of you to be happy,” he said simply. “And I want there to be trust between you  _ even _ if I’m around. I know you don’t trust me, and that my words may sound empty to you, but if that’s the case, please, think of yourself. Don’t let your distrust of me get the best of you, for, if anything,  _ that _ is what could throw you back into loneliness. You deserve better,” he squeezed his hands a bit, trying to muster a smile, however sad it remained. “But if you wish to come visit me, you’re very welcome. You can even come without Iltarel,” he humored him gently, and his smile managed to get a little more enthused. He cared to let go of the hands however, although his remained close. He fully expected a lash back or snide comments.

Indeed, Dayar darkened in offense and snatched himself away.

“So, just because I don’t want Iltarel alone with you, it means that I’m like your client? Mentally manipulating my shamar?” he straightened up and wiped his hands on his pants. “I think  _ you’re _ the one who might turn out like Emyr. I said I’d give you a second chance, not that I’d turn a blind eye – and  _ not _ that I’d forget what you did. Oh, you might get Iltarel to forget, because he adores you. But I’ll be here and remind him, and you’d better keep that in mind before you try something.”

“You think that manipulation of his was all there was to his character?” Glain made a face. “There’s more to a man than what’s on the trial, and he wasn’t all bad. But his way of being made him more lonely than he could have been if he’d acted out of kindness rather than out of fear. And grudge,” he added that one but only for Dayar. “Grudges. Grudges are the scum of our entire species. Without forgiveness, there is no society, no progress, no passing ordeals, no…” he had to stop there, because he was getting too upset, and that wasn’t representative. And then he heard Iltarel clearing his throat and turned around to see him.

“Honestly, you two… that’s enough,” the albino said wearily. He looked at Glain, then at Dayar, then at Glain again. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll betray you on that one,” he told him, sending a look of panic on his luzzur’s face as he set his eyes back on Dayar.

“Please, don’t upset him more than necessary-” he started and Glain tried to interrupt him but only ended up silenced with a hug and a hand on the mouth, “-he tried to kill himself after my surgery and I know he’s still thinking about it; that’s why Delna has him on a leash – she’s a psychologist, and it’s safer to deal with those things in the privacy of home and vesala than in ward. But I know he doesn’t want to die a criminal, and that he’s not trying to be disorderly with me. He’s just trying to stay alive, and I can’t refuse to help him in such circumstances. It’s a tough time for all, and the choices we make today will have a long-lasting impact. That doesn’t diminishes the love I have for you, shamar, nor how much I care for you. I built those strong arms so I could carry those I love to better places, and if you want to put them to test, I can carry you both – you sweet on my hip, and him on my shoulder.”

Dayar’s throat thickened with frustration – he wanted to say that this made it all the more dangerous to be close to Glain.

“I already said I forgive him – what more do you want me to do?” he asked in a strangled voice, “What more do  _ you _ want me to do?” he looked at Glain with accusation. “Isn’t it enough that I let you be near him? Or maybe you expected me to somehow be grateful to bask in your presence – you, who betrayed my shamar! Be it under the effect of alcohol, arrogance and apathy, it still was you. If I am not to judge you by how you act, then by what? If you want to change my mind, go ahead, try. But it’s going to take time. Lightening does adore striking the same spot repeatedly.”

At that, Glain finally thrashed free of Iltarel’s embrace, looking at him in complete betrayal, tears in his eyes, then at Dayar.

“It’s not a game,” he hissed at him in distaste and bewilderment, and tried to leave the kitchen. Iltarel tried to stop him, obviously worried, but Glain hissed at him too. “No, no! I’ve had enough! I’ve had enough for tonight! Just stay with your shamar, take care of him, have sex, live your life, I don’t care, I really don’t care!” he spat at him although it was obvious that he did care, and he tried his best to hide his face and wipe the tears in an attempt to keep representative for the sake of his function. His gaze landed on Demeny in the living room, and instantly filled up with anger, reproach and a look not unlike the one Emyr had when he thought Nardine did set him up for trial. They did have a lot in common, didn’t they?

Glain left the flat so fast he might as well just have beamed out of it. The walk to the transport station wasn’t enough to clear his mind and feelings, and since he didn’t wish to risk being unrepresentative in public, he passed a request to get transported directly at home, in Akleen. He left his shoes in the hall so Enjam and Delna would know he’d returned but didn’t stay around and went to his bedroom directly, where he locked himself in and went to his bed directly, undressing as he walked and dropping his clothes messily and carelessly. Only, he realized something had been put on his bed and he had to put it on the nightstand first.

A box of sweets and a card. Why would Delna…? he wondered but then open the card, which was very pretty – a traditional design with the Union’s emblem, silver on a black background framed by a sliver of silver, although the emblem itself was unusually sparkly. At the back were a few words, simple words: “ _ Thank you. Call me maybe, _ ” but they were enough to unleash the Conservator’s tears. He wished he could’ve indulged in the candies, but he knew he’d only get sick, so he held the card to his heart instead, while sobbing into his pillow for a while long enough to get him a dehydration headache.

What a setback.

And all he could think of what of how much he wished he could be with Leyour in that moment. How dared Iltarel do that to him? And Demeny… What a devious ploy. And  _ Dayar _ . The kindness and empathy he once felt for him had ran out, Glain found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	42. V - Respite under the dancing lights

#  Respite under the dancing lights

Glain liked the great aquarium of Lakat because it was a restful place. It was grand, majestic, elegant, and one could easily forget one’s self there. Looking at the fishes swimming was soothing too. As such, if was a good choice of place to meet Luyeour again. They joined under the rotonde of the main hall and they were happy to see each other again, although Glain’s eyes easily betrayed that something bad had happened. Nevertheless, they paid their entrances and stepped into the darker galleries, where people could walk closer under the pretense that the dim light coming from the tank beckoned a night-like behavior.

“I’ve missed you,” Glain shared. “I know it’s only been two days, but it feels like a lot more.” He sighed and looked at his friend to mouth a “ _ Thank you for the chocolates. _ ”

“I know your feeling,” Luyeour hummed with a bit of a headshake, and a look toward a fish zooming by, “when I came home from the trial, my parents were overbearing, trying to get me to ‘ _ move home to Torr _ ’, insisting none of this would have happened if I hadn’t grown my own career. But enough about that,” he realized that he didn’t want to talk about it; living it had been bad enough, “How have you been? No bad lashback, I hope?”

“Home was supportive,” Glain nodded a bit factually. “My uncle was wary but proud, I think, and Delna was… well, she’s always supportive and perfect,” he snorted. “I haven’t heard word from my father,” he said disinvoltedly, “and I think I lost my luzzur. Not because of the trial, or maybe, I don’t know,” he tried to keep at bay from his emotions. “The Archon was secret vesala to my luzzur’s shamar, and that man, he…” he balled his fists and writhed his fingers in frustration, “I don’t have to worry about him. He’ll disappear on his own – that’s what they do. He’ll disappear on his own and leave my luzzur heartbroken. Well, there’s not much more I can do – I’ve offered my help and warned them several times, and if he prefers to hold onto his grudges against me then that’s it. I don’t need them in my life,” he resolved in pure spite and looked at his friend with hurt eyes still. “I was bred and raised to be a Conservator… it’s a curse, that instinct to help and take care. It really is when neither won’t be accepted nor taken.”

Luyeour wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just stroked Glain’s arm a little, ending with his little finger hugging the other’s. It wasn’t considered  _ that _ indecent, and anyway, it wasn’t like anyone would pay much attention to it. He was just a man comforting his friend, which was entirely unscrupulous.

“I think,” he moved a bit closer to better lower his voice but still be heard, “that you shouldn’t make any decisions right now at all, about what you think of whatever happened to you. You’re very upset – it’s been my own personal experience that, that when we’re upset, we, ah, we don’t know the truth yet. But if it’s of any help to you, let’s make this meeting about calming us both down. I haven’t had any sleep since before the trial, I’ve been crying and feeling so much, I’m exhausted, and I’m ready to rest a bit. Do you want to rest with me, here? Together?”

“I would like that,” Glain smiled at him weakly. “My sleep has been poor too – I very much can relate ...and that makes your proposition all the more attractive. I think… I think I feel safer being with you, knowing we’re both going through strife, pain and loss. It makes me feel less alone with all that…” he tightened his little finger around Luyeour’s. “We could take a room… I can afford it, and the views on the water are soothing.”

“That’s a good idea,” Luyeour nodded, “maybe we should do that first, and then when we’ve rested, we could enjoy the rest of the aquarium. I’d like that very much, Your Rokat.”

“Then it’s agreed,” Glain led the way.

 

The room they got was alike to a soft alcove with a cyan tint brought by the light of the tank seen through the viewscreen-like window. It was cozy, with a double bed to the side, not directly in view of the window for the sake of Cardassian needs, and the architecture made it into a good cave-like hiding spot. Glain smiled more sweetly at that and started to take off his shirt to put it on the shelf next to the bed, then stopped to look at Luyeour.

“Are you fine with nudity?” he cared to ask. “I don’t want to embarrass you in any way, especially if we allow ourselves to be tender and caring… but no sex…”

Luyeour tugged at the sleeves of his own tunic, then went to remove his shoes instead.

“You be nude if you want, I think I’ll... keep myself dressed,” he gulped a little and put the shoes on the shelf next to the door. Next, he removed the coat, leaving him dressed in gray pants and a white under-shirt, decorated with pretty seams. “I normally don’t have any problems with nudity. I’m just worried that if I undress, I might become disorderly.”

“Thank you,” Glain nodded and undressed further but kept his dark purple underwear. “I’m rather sensitive and a bit ticklish, which is pleasant, but it can easily draw rather disorderly sounds from me,” he warned and sat on the bed. “If you feel like touching, I might be more discreet if you do so with your hand rather than fingertips,” he explained and laid next to Luyeour, resting on his crossed arms so he could observe him.

“Thank you for being there with me, Leyour. You’re very sweet… I hope I haven’t hurt you too much,” he said and moved to lay a hand on the other’s cheek.

“Shh, let’s not think about hurt now that it feels better,” Luyeour advised and laid his fingers over Glain’s, only to gently move the touch up his arm, over his neck and to his cheek, too. “If I weren’t bound to be decent right now, I’d start by telling you how enchantingly beautiful eyes you have. I’d tell you that I’d confess any crime – even things I never committed – if your eyes asked me to. And your lips, I thirst for the words they hide, the wisdoms, the harsh truths and the pleasant ones. Even the lies, or perhaps, especially the lies,” he quoted and ran his fingers over said lips, “And then, if I hadn’t made the decision to stay orderly, I would’ve told you how sweet your chufa is, and how lucious your neckscales are in this light. I would have tasted them, and I would’ve told you that they tasted as sweet as you look,” his hand remained at the other’s cheek. “However, as we are here as two decent men enjoying a casual relaxation day, I will do none of those things. All I’ll do, is to lay here and admire you until you fall asleep, and then I will watch you until I, too, pass out from exhaustion.”

Glain smiled in amusement and appreciation.

“You’re a darling, truly. Maybe I’ll be the one to confess eventually, the secrets, the truths and lies I cannot bear,” he answered the partial quotes from  _ Twenty-Seven Names of Cherim _ with another partial quote. Then leaned over him a bit and kissed the ridge on his cheek that led to the ear. “Please though, have some rest too so I can enjoy your lucid presence all the more when we awake,” he gently asked.

“I feel restful already,” Luyeour mumbled with fascination and hugged Glain’s naked form to himself, nuzzling his hair and closing his eyes. It was surprisingly easy not to think of Emyr – save for the moments when he realized he wasn’t thinking of him. Most of his mind whirled around with impressions it had yet to digest – sleep served a not-so-insignificant role in maintaining sanity, after all.

Continued silence lulled them to sleep, soft and deep like a merciful darkness. In Luyeour’s dream, he and Glain had ended up falling into one of the aquariums, where they realized they could breathe underwater. The dream went like his dreams often did, and in the end, they were making out against the window to a room where a very shocked couple watched them.

Dreams weren’t as kind to Glain, who was searching for his father in a patchwork of rooms, as if the homes in Paldar, Akleen, and even Teval’s flat had been merged with the Ministry of Justice and the Sidjartan Institute of Law. At some point, Iltarel tried to help him, insisting that he knew where Nall was, but Glain only got upset at him, slapping him, beating him and trying to really hurt him although his attacks seemed to have no effect to deter his luzzur’s presence. Then the dream shifted and softened too, as Glain huddled with Demeny who was reading him a story in Keelani’s couch that so happened to be in Demeny’s living room in that moment. Luyeour was there too, setting dishes on the dinner table and smiling with sweet malice as he listened to Demeny and to Glain’s childish words. It was cozy at last, and Glain felt warm when he awoke against Luyeour. There was a wetness left to his cheeks by his first dream, but it was alright and he smiled.

“You were in my dream,” he croaked, “you were a very sweet housekeeper ...or a father-mom,” he had to make up a word: “About the same thing as a housekeeper, but more like family,” he tried to explain and winced. “I’m sorry,” he apologized for the weird mental pictures the other might be getting.

Luyeour let out a long, pleasant hum and turned on his side to stroke a finger down from Glain’s chufa to his nose tip.

“Fancy me in a houskeeper’s dress and apron, Master Rokat?” he asked with a purr that very nearly made it into his own pants. “You wouldn’t have to worry about the mess: I’d clean it all...” he giggled shamelessly. “You were in my dream too, Conservator.”

“Disorderly dreams, I take it,” Glain guessed from the gleam in the other’s eyes and the title usage. Then he sighed and laid on his back, looking at the ceiling, which was rather close in that part of the room. “I want family,” he shared a bit bluntly. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get that however, and I’m not sure I want my family to just mean a wife and children. I think I need more, and currently… Currently my family is wrecking apart if anything. I need… I’m not sure what I need. To find myself, maybe,” he nodded to himself and looked at the other.

“Now, I am not sure that’s going to happen, ever,” Luyeour answered even though he knew he was expected to comfort: “We’re ever changing creatures, and just like we molt our scales so that we can become stronger, we also have to renew the self. To find yourself is dangerous: to be seduced by the idea that anything in life is a constant, is a threat to one’s flexibility. And you, dear Conservator, are all too complex to ever be found. You are like an artwork to experience – and there will always,  _ always _ be more left to see than has been seen already,” he lifted the other’s hand to his lips, and kissed it.“If it’s family you want, you might be welcome to consider the Society to be your family, your stability – a great many of us feel like we can’t rely on blood family, like the risk of disassociation would be all too strong, were we to be ourselves. You perhaps long for a sense of belonging.”

Glain nodded to that, slowly and thoughtfully.

“You might be right. When that boy took me to that place in Torr, where I first saw men with men and women with women, he told me that these were my people. And those words echoed so strongly in me,” he recalled perfectly. “You are probably right. Maybe that’s the place where I’ll eventually find my joy ...I do find joy in  _ you _ , after all, Leyour tahkmar,” he sat up and caressed his chest. “I’m very thankful for your honesty. It’s worth more to me than any honeyed lies of comfort. I… have a thing for honest people,” he crooked a smile at the corner of his lips.

“Oooh,” Luyeour grinned and thinned his eyes, a smug expression outlined by a myriad of fine eyelashes, “a very risky  _ thing _ to have in your profession, I bet,” he jested and resisted the urge to kiss him already. “What kind of confessions are your favourite ones? Outside of court, I mean.”

“It’s going to sound self-centered, but… what people think of me, of what I do or think, because those help me to shape myself and fit around them. And I certainly do not want to be unpleasant around others –” Luyeour snorted in agreement that it was  _ indeed _ self-centered. “Else, I like spontaneity of opinions and reactions,” he nodded, but then thought of Dayar. “Admittedly, I don’t always like that when it comes from people with grudges taller than the Ministry,” he reckoned. “And you?” he returned the question, “Which are your favorite ones?” he expected sexual ones but hoped to be wrong maybe.

“I... don’t know. It used to be confessions of infidelity – I always admired that ability to conceal and distort. But I think, perhaps I’ve lost my taste for it. So I no longer know what I want to learn. I guess I like to hear people talk about whatever they’re expert at. Even if I don’t always understand – sometimes I don’t even hear the words. There’s just something attractive about the body language and voice of someone enthused and confident.”

“There is,” Glain agreed, “and that’s a prospect that enthuses me about you,” he bent down to lay a very quick peck on Luyeour’s lips before springing out of the bed to go pick his clothes. “I’ll have you know that I’ve made many men confess their infidelity, but to me, it wasn’t about what they hid nor how they did. It was about the pain, the hurt, the shame and the fear. I so wanted to appease them and bring comfort, but it wasn’t just that either. It was a bit of a personal social study, maybe in part because I must have been worried for my own future,” he reckoned while dressing.

Luyeour heaved up at his side, looking at Glain’s back with amusement.

“Sweet, innocent Rokat,” he cooed. “I don’t mean that they’d admit that they were cheating on someone else, I mean that they’d admit they were cheating on me. There’s a delight to be derived from the idea that your lover, while you have sex with them, is desirable to many others. Desires many other. Manages to satisfy many people,” he looked at his hand on the pillow, “But you are right, too, the shadowplay and psychology is interesting. And the times I was chased down and found out, I enjoyed it – and vice versa. How do you view those things, Conservator?”

Glain blushed a little and his body language turned a bit prude, in a cute way of inexperience.

“It sounds like a playful game,” he said a bit innocently. “A dangerous but playful enigma game. I… I have to admit it’s enticing. Yet, I don’t know,” he paused. “I’ve thought of my luzzur and his shamar, together,” he shared. “I guess it doesn’t count as cheating, but a part of me feels so, maybe because I was cheated out of the game by Demeny – the shamar’s uncle,” he specified. “To think of them… it makes me hot but it makes me sick. I think it’s beautiful because they’re beautiful, but them together? It feels disgusting too. A bit of panic and nausea, you know?” he showed some concern. “That doesn’t feel healthy… I just. I question myself. For all the men I’ve been with, not to be chosen by those two feels like… like maybe it means I’m not attractive, and I can perfectly see why,” he sighed in contained shame. “It’s true that I’ve tried to find reassurance in sex, but in the end… it was just sex, and what I want is more. What I want is… luzzurs, I guess,” he admitted to using Demeny’s words, although he still felt very betrayed by that man.

Luyeour watched Glain dress, listening and letting the words sink in. In the end, he got up from the bed too. Had they been closer, known each other more deeply, he might have given the other a hug. Now, however, he just stroked his arm in comfort as he stepped up next to him, pulling on shoes and robing himself in his jacket.

“Perhaps you’d like a change of scenery? You could come  visit Culat sometime, and I’d let you rummage through the innards of the clinic I work at. I’d introduce you to my friends and work colleagues – I’m sure they’d be intrigued and a bit terrified to meet you.”

“That does sound like an entertaining proposition, honestly,” Glain agreed. “I’d like that. And for now…” he took his comb and adjusted the other’s hair before doing his own, “I would love to explore this aquarium with you, Your Ador,” he smiled. “I really appreciate your company. It soothes me a lot,” he assured then thought to boast a little: “Did you know I’ve met Doctor Crell Moset?” he asked and shared the anecdote of the scientist’s attendance of his sister’s wedding.

Luyeour allowed himself to express a certain appreciation for Glain’s feat, as it was quite a peculiar overlap of social spheres that made the meeting possible at all.

“Of course, meeting Moset eye to eye is quite impressive – but not, of course, as impressive as meeting, say, a Conservator,” mused Luyeour, “Now that’s something that I would consider highly honorable – and worth boasting about.”

Glain snickered at that.

“Too much with the praise, Leyour,” he chided him. “You know what’s truly impressive? It is to meet unknown people and be grateful for it,” he pointed. “It’s easy to be enthused over celebrities, but isn’t it truer gratefulness to appreciate the mundane? And isn’t that what we should be striving for as Cardassians? The mundane is where the craft of our society is found, and when we celebrate it, we drape ourselves in art and wonder. We see the splendor of Cardassia, and let me tell you that it is this very splendor that keeps me alive day by day,” he realized he’d slipped a bit but didn’t let it show, smoothly continuing: “and all of us, truly – the food we eat, the clothes we wear, the houses we live in and the culture we enjoy…” he smiled and led the way out of the room when he’d decided that they looked representative enough.

“When I was little, I remember I had a best friend who went to the aquarium,” Luyeour changed topics entirely as they walked through the valved corridor, “His uncle had joined the military and sent funds home, and his father used them as a treat to make his life a little more intriguing. I think he works here, now,” he mused and looked around a bit more. “I mean, he probably does so as a cleaner or something, but what I mean is, it left an impression on him. Isn’t it terrifying how much influence children have over where adults go when they grow up?”

“That’s right,” Glain agreed. “When I was at the Institute, on Second Level, we’d sneak out and go to Torr. I still remember the students of the music academy, youth our age, performing in the street to give us good memories and an appreciation for art that they hoped would carry through adulthood. And I believe it worked quite well. Do you perform in any artistic practice, Ador?” he asked with interest.

Luyeour diverted his eyes with a slight blush of shame and shook his head a little.

“I – I know it would’ve been more Cardassian if I had entertained such things, but I never had any time to acquire those skills, and once I’d grown up enough that there were gaps in my schedule, I’d developed, should we say, a more basic hobby,” he cleared his throat and smiled mildly. “That doesn’t mean I’m un-Cardassian – I can appreciate artistic works and sentiments. It’s just, I find medical records and lists to be a little bit more satisfying, is all.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that: it means I can sing and you can listen,” Glain’s grin was discreet on his lips but vivid in the green of his eyes. “I’ve always loved songs and theater. I used to sing in the Belendras Choir,” he mentioned casually and pressed on the more interesting anecdote: “Once, when I was a little child, my mother took me and one of my little choir friends out to watch a musical. When we came out, we were so enthused we started to sing, and I took the part of the wrathful Calyx trying to scare the hero away, and I was so into it that my friend did get somewhat scared and disturbed,” he chuckled. “She was impressed, and in a way, so was I.”

The memory must’ve been so sweet, although Luyeour was stuck imagining Glain mimicking Calyx like he was – a rather small young man, all proper and well mannered.

“Then perhaps you should sing that part,” he urged with a bit of amusement, “though, perhaps in a different venue, where there aren’t children around. You might  _ scare _ somebody.”

“I  _ might _ indeed, and it wouldn’t be a proper behavior for a Conservator,” Glain nodded. “But I definitely shall. When I visit you in Culat, maybe?” he offered and looked at the pink tank behind Leyour, where transparent fish and jellyfish were swimming elegantly. What a nice picture that made, the way the color outlined the man. “Do you wish to have children someday?” Glain asked more carefully, because he didn’t know if the other was capable of conceiving at all.

The topic became sober and serious at once, and so did Luyeour’s expression.

“I used to,” he said and looked over his shoulder into the tank next to him, “but... I live in a way that I don’t think children would permit, and my parents aren’t pressuring me for grandchildren, since they’re trying to have a child of their own first and foremost. I don’t know,” he shrugged and looked back at Glain. “I take it that you do? You speak fondly of those topics. Maybe you should enjoin an infertile woman, pick a street child and pretend it’s yours – I’ve known people who have done such things, and it’s relatively easy to convince a prostitute to give up her child.”

“Cruel too,” Glain tightened his lips. “I’ve always thought I’d find a woman like… Nardine,” he suggested with an expression that meant ‘one who is into women.’ “I thought it could be a good arrangement in which we’d both get what we want without having to permanently disappoint the other in the bedroom. I’ve worried about what children might perceive and how that would affect them, but I might have been afraid… Not afraid of being a bad influence on my offspring, but afraid of picking the wrong woman,” he admitted. “It’s not entirely easy… I guess I’d wish to be close friends,” he started walking again, at a slow pace so they might eye at the tanks and architecture. “I do love being around children, and… I have this need to care. I nearly adopted two,” he revealed. “But my father forbade it and adopted them himself instead. I must admit I feel a bit robbed now.”

Luyeour nodded slowly and contemplated this confession.

“An unusual decision,” he pointed out. “I know a couple who adopted – or rather, one of them adopted the children, paid a housekeeper to be the female representative, and now he’s raising them with his Shamar – they moved away from Prime since then,” he added and rubbed his left arm, “but that’s an option – although, not if you want to keep on being a public figure.”

“Yes, that’s a part of the problem… Although, I’m contemplating to move toward political analysis and keep on traveling around the Union – I wasn’t just an archivist prior to becoming Conservator; I was also a repair technician. That has been a most efficient way to broaden my vesala through the stars, and really, I wanted to see the diversity of our people. I do love this diversity. But I don’t know yet how I can get all those dreams to fit together. I guess I’ll have to see which opportunities I do get, and then make choices. Dreams are sweet, but reality is the true reward.”

“Aren’t you worried that you’ll waste time not perfecting the skills you have, if you spread yourself thin like that?” Luyeour asked with a raised eyeridge. “Dreams are good as long as they aren’t distractions, and I’d personally find it more reassuring if my surgeon was always a surgeon, than if she’d boast being a former Gul, Archon or Notator...”

“Having been an archivist is what makes me a better Conservator than if I’d gone straight into that line of work,” Glain hummed. “I’ve been out there, I’ve seen people, and I know how to find the information I need about my clients. And in barely two months or so, I’m already more popular than some who have been working for several years. And it isn’t because those aren’t talented, it’s because they chose the sheltered, common way while I forged my own path.” He took a second to think about his own words and added: “I might have to forge it in more than one way. It’s more exciting like that, isn’t it? Tiring, yes, but so is life, and it has so much to offer,” he hoped he could convince himself. He needed to stir his curiosity if he wished to keep on going.

“And you aren’t scared they’ll see it more like me with the surgeon?” Luyeour questioned and stopped to marvel at a many-armed creature behind the glass. “What if they think you’re undeserving, what if they’ll turn into bad vesala? Not that I watch a lot of trials, mind,” he added a bit more embarrassedly, “I’m actually really rather bad at watching them at all; they’re a bit boring and, I find it difficult to concentrate on them, sometimes.”

“I won’t fault you for that,” Glain tilted his head and looked at the animal too. “I think some of them will think as you say, yes, but it can’t be helped: they would think that way no matter what. Sometimes, that’s just how it is. But those things can change; it’s all a matter of granting and returning favors. The one who is successful must work harder to help the others thrive. It’s a delicate balance to maintain, between generosity and self-preservation. Actually, that was one of the first things I had to struggle with at the Institute, because I was Eight of my group, courtesy of my grandfather. ...I can now see that it was one thing he did that was worth it in the end. I struggled, but I learned more, starting from the bottom, and now that I get toward the top, I know to relate to those who aren’t there yet but whose advice will be valuable to me. Asking for advice, I learned, is a good way to obtain help and get an opportunity to return it,” he smiled.

“And if you were to fall, would those graces be good enough to live off of?” Luyeour asked and turned to Glain, leaning against the frame of the glass. “These creatures, did you know that they used to be large, larger than this building? Dangerous too. Yet now, they’re small – and alive because they’re small.”

“But so am I,” Glain crossed his arms. “You only perceive me as taller than I am, but down to it, we’re all small. If I fall, I can get back to living a little life if I’m allowed that. I wouldn’t mind it. If I’m not allowed it, I have nothing left to worry about. As such, I have little to fear about when it comes to my fate. It is for those around me that I must worry, because I certainly am not like my grandfather,” he said although his eyes turned more dull. The doubts were creeping back. Dreams were foolish. Could he truly have children when they might be targeted, when he might have so many enemies? “Everybody has enemies,” he tried to resolve. “If we let the fear of them direct our lives, we do nothing. There is no life without risks, no evolution without risk. Those creatures, they took the risk of becoming smaller, more vulnerable to predators, but probably more capable of feeding themselves sufficiently too, and striving. Risks are everywhere, but so are chances.”

Luyeour got back to walking, crossing his hands in the small of his back. He looked more proper than he was capable of actually being, but it was worth the effort – he was, after all, in the presence of a Conservator.

“Emyr thought so, too,” he observed without any emotion reflected in those words, “he had a way of seeing chances where others saw risks – he wasn’t bad at his job, either.”

“And he was smaller in court… as small as he always was,” Glain added. “Not everybody wins at those games. Not even I. But if I don’t try, the education I received will have been wasted on me. I owe it to Cardassia to try. You tried too, didn’t you? Instead of taking your parents’ business, you went your way,” he pointed. “And that was a good choice. Bad things happened, yes, but then… something better happened too. Do you have regrets, Ador?” he asked softly, acting the Conservator part.

“My position, I owe to Emyr, not to myself,” Luyeour pointed and looked at the floor a little. “He introduced me to the Society, provided me with the vesala I needed. He even paid for my accomodations – he made sure to get me a nice agreement for a nice flat, and he paid the rent in advance as well. He even got me my furniture...” he silenced and chewed the inside of his lip. “I don’t know if that is a regret, but right now, I feel like perhaps I have been ungrateful to him. I wouldn’t be what I am, if it weren’t for him.”

“That might be true, but that doesn’t change that he broke the law and did something that was extremely wrong. And simply because someone is behaving well and nice most of the time doesn’t mean we should overlook their actions the day they misbehave. Being a good person isn’t a part-time occupation one can opt out when it doesn’t suit their fancy,” Glain argued. “You can be grateful for what he did for you while also condemning his bad deed. It  _ is  _ regrettable that he let money lead him astray like this… He likely didn’t want to be a bad person, but that’s the thing with criminals. Most of them never wanted to do anything bad,” he tried to smile a bit comfortingly. “Don’t weep for him too much yet; with hope, he’ll soar in his new occupation. It’ll be hard, but if he tries, he’ll find his way, eventually, and that’ll be something he’ll owe entirely to himself.”

“I hope so,” Luyeour forced himself to smile at the prospect. “In the meanwhile, I have to move flats – now that he’s cut himself off from me, too, I can’t exactly fund that lifestyle. One of my colleagues already proposed I’d move to her – though, I told her, others would find it disorderly. Not that she seems to mind – I guess it’s the kind of  _ disorderly _ that is more expected and Cardassian. And she’s a nice person, too.”

Glain smiled at that.

“See, now that sounds like a good friend, and then you can move out again when you find a more appropriate place for you to be. That must be nice, still… having your own place,” he mused in slight envy and kept on walking.

There was a bigger room with amazing fish swimming all around. More people too, but calm still.

The water reflected the sounds almost as well as it did the light – whispers carried all the way to the other side of the pool, audible albeit distorted.

“I already dread moving out,” Luyeour grimaced like he’d bitten into something sour, “to no longer be free to set my own rules, living permanently as if I’m someone’s guest, abiding by structures and order that isn’t mine… It’s incredible how fast you get used to having your own little realm of order.”

“It surely is,” Glain agreed. “Admittedly, the only moments when I’ve lived alone were when I had to rent a room for certain assignments, but then that was usually short and I often… wasn’t alone,” he didn’t want to mention Iltarel. “I had colleagues and it was cheaper, splitting the costs. The closest I’ve been to living alone was when I somewhat lived with our housekeeper, but that still felt like living with family,” he reckoned. “And right now, living alone is the last thing I want; it would be rather haunting to be left with myself only. Company too is good for the soul…” he neared a bench – the oval room was deeper at the center, with large concentric stairsteps leveling it, and there were some little walls dividing the space along those lines, here and there, with benches on either sides.

Glain chose the lower side facing toward the center of the room and the tanks on the other side, where the people looking at them were reduced to silhouettes. It felt cozy and safe, and also offered a nice view of the lowest level, which flooring was a shade of beige reminiscent of sandy beaches of the Morfar Province, with water’s light playing its magic. There were some little children amazed by it and trying to catch the dancing patterns like kittens might just do.

A satisfied grunt left Luyeour as he sat next to Glain, one leg crossed over the other. He lost himself to the reflections of light playing over the other’s face and neckscales – he looked entrancing, and the sight was soothing.   
“Company is welcome when invited, but personally, I like the opportunity to take a break and rest. Living with others makes everything a compromise, and I am not too fond of compromises. For me to love – I mean, live – with someone else, they’d really have to make the compromise worthwhile.”

“If you don’t like compromises, you could always do like my friend, Sulek,” Glain said and explained: “His wife needs her space and she’s not very good at compromising, and ...neither is he, honestly, so they split their flat in two – they even have two front doors. I think it’s one of those cases when there used to be two small flats that were merged into a bigger one. Very practical too if you-” he interrupted himself as he felt that someone was coming right in their direction.

It was a mature woman, bold in stature and stride – she was taller than them, broader too, and likely more muscular as well, but not masculine. With such arms, Glain was about certain she had to be or have been a housekeeper.

“Oh, excuse me for intruding,” she looked at them with a mixture of curiosity and excitation, “I come here often and your sight felt familiar although I’m about certain we’ve never met here before,” she tried not to get straight to the point too fast. “Are you the young Conservator Rokat? And  _ the main witness _ ,” she added eagerly at Luyeour. “I mean, of course, you are. Ah, it’s really an honor to meet you ...both,” she quickly specified for the latter. “That was such a brilliant trial, and thrilling too – it’s not everyday we see one like that! Mind, would you very much be bothered if I’d dare ask for your autograph?” she grinned.

“Would that hold a lot of value to you?” Glain asked in return. “Wouldn’t it hold more value if I were the one to ask for  _ your _ autograph? Believe it or not,  _ you _ are, after all, the first person to ask for my signature,” he nearly flattered her and she blushed terribly, stuttering in embarrassment. “You are, of course, free to refuse,” Glain assured. “I would perfectly understand if you’d rather not a Conservator knew your name,” he joked more pleasantly. “Do you have anything to write on?”

She gushed some more as she promptly produced a notebook from her bag. Glain produced a pen of his own and indulged her with a beautiful calligraphy.

“I used to be most clumsy with writing, but I had to train this skill and found great solace and inspiration in this practice,” he shared calmly as he traced elegant swirls.

“It’s very beautiful,” she hurried to compliment.

Glain smiled and it didn’t take a lot more to get her to reveal her name so he could write it too, along with a few words. “ _ For Ileka Niveran, met in a moment to treasure, lit by dancing water and warmed by her eager smile – at the Aquarium. _ ”

“How lovely!” she gasped and turned to Luyeour. “Would you too…?”

“Oh, I...” Luyeour looked back and forth between the woman and Glain, as if asking the Conservator what was actually expected of him if he wanted to be socially acceptable, “I... am flattered, but really, I don’t think it would be proper. I was there as a humble civilian, I did nothing but my due as a citizen,” he nodded respectfully, “I’ll decline, but I thank you for your consideration.”

­She was obviously disappointed, but she smiled anyway.

“Oh, well, you did really good, at least,” she flattered him a bit awkwardly. “And you too,” she hurriedly added for Glain. “It’s a wonder where you’ve been all those years,” she jested and giggled a bit. “Was your father grooming you behind the scenes or-”

“-No,” Glain cut that question that could only end up being very offensive, whichever way it’d go. “I simply chose to serve Cardassia as I saw was fit and best of me, and it was as humble archivist and repair technician,” he shared, unashamedly – her eyes rounded in surprise so he went on to explain: “What a better way to understand people’s throes but through working among all manners and classes of us?”

“Oh...OH!” she got it, “Very clever!”

“I do hope so, and sensitive too, I should wish to expect,” he nodded.

“Yes, absolutely. Sensitivity really is something that was ingrained in your lineage – by your father, at least,” she kept on with the awkward praise.

“Sensitivity wasn’t Melekor’s style indeed,” Glain agreed. “Now, I hope I won’t sound too much like him, but we-” that sentence was getting too long in its attempt to be tactful and polite, and the woman didn’t have the patience to hear the end of it.

“-But what are you two doing together then?” she asked with a hunger for gossip befitting of Obsidian urchins.

“Testing new approaches at Conservation,” Glain answered fluidly, albeit with a bit of a sigh. “It’s a relaxed debriefing, if you’d rather view it as such.  _ Now _ , maybe you’d like to share your autographe with me, or maybe we should all let Justice resume to its course?” he smiled something sweet but with a warning edge.

She giggled again but opted for the latter. Safety had won over curiosity after all, and she went off her way. Glain looked at Luyeour and his face read ’ _ I thought she’d never leave. _ ’

“I didn’t expect for a Conservator to be so... approachable by people,” Luyeour told as an afterthought. “Most people I know would go out of their way to reach one... but then, maybe that’s because they’re all in finance. Crime is more the norm than the exception, there,” he smiled a bit uncomfortably and looked down at his shoes. “Emyr used to say that any affair can turn into something illegal if you just change your perspective to suit your end goal. Everyone’s a criminal, you just have to figure out what they’re guilty of,” his expression dulled. “So if you want to get rid of someone, you investigate them – Emyr never did that, of course. I mean, isn’t it also illegal to interfere with what should be a matter for the Obsidian Order?” He wasn’t sure, actually, and that uncertainty reflected in his tone of voice.

“Blackmail is illegal,” Glain stated. “Investigating someone isn’t, although it isn’t recommended. It can be dangerous and should indeed be left to those holding competence in such fields... although,” he lowered his voice, “it is always best to hide all you know until you are certain that your suspicions are, not only grounded, but also irrejectable in court. Barvonok people often keep their hold because they ...have their way, as Emyr taught you so well, to  _ help _ Justice consider what is most beneficial for Cardassia.” He sighed, though: “Emyr’s descent was a victory for the people. For the workers, the scientists, the people who get things done. People like you,” Glain smiled. “It was a defeat for Barvonok, but not only. This kind of trial, in which the small defeats the strong, can give shivers to all those who hold power, in Akleen, Coranum, Tarlak, even Paldar... But a victory of Torr every once in awhile serves them, because it gives people hope that our justice is equal, and that hope, my dear Leyour, is the most sturdy chain you’ll ever find to shackle, not the bodies, but the minds. That hope is what keeps an entire society so straight it bends a bit backwards,” he whispered in confidence. “That’s why I wish to make them count, because in that fleeting moment of Conservation, when hope opens the gates of hearts and souls, comes the chance to burn that hope into dreams and willpower. And that... that is something entirely different than shackles of hope.”

These were dangerous words, Glain knew, and nothing worth plaguing Leyour with. Thus, he silenced and switched onto more mundane topics, letting his friend be the one to bring back heavier feelings so they could be released and appeased. Through that day, they went various places and the time they spent together was pleasant. A breath of air for both of them. A touch of mundanity and normalcy, needed and welcomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	43. V - A night in Culat

## A night in Culat

The public transport that hassled the expansion between cities on Cardassia Prime was an excellent showcase of comfort, design and functionality. Tying the cities together like a small union of their own were the rails: a glistening ring of metal, quite elegant and well polished, that some incorrectly claimed could be seen from space.

Inside the wagons, seats were spaced perfectly, broad alleys allowed for swift passage, and luggage lockers held dispositives to ease the insertion and extraction of bags and cases under or above the seats. Glain, being considered higher society – and as such, in need for privacy and protection – got escorted to one of the lounges that most people referred to as the ‘luxury type’. Not that there was anything that distinguished it from the rest of the train, except perhaps for it being located in the last car, which was considered the safest one, in case of emergency.

There, were seats for companies of nine, and Glain joined a few other passengers. He engaged in casual chit-chat as was proper, and soon fished up his professional PADD to review cases and watch trials he’d missed – there were enough to keep him entertained for the entire trip and back again if need be. With the new generation implant he’d received as Conservator, he could listen to the sound without disturbing anyone else, which was most practical in the transports.

Every now and then, his mind wandered away, thinking of Luyeour. Thinking of Iltarel too, and Dayar. And Demeny. It was queer how the Chief Editor had tricked the young Conservator in attending a dinner with him just a few days before, and how the experience had even been ...pleasant and rewarding. Demeny Edar cared greatly for his nephew, as much as Glain cared for Iltarel, and it was in their common interests to ensure that no bad vesala lingered there. Although he still wished to keep his distance with the couple, Glain could appreciate Demeny’s vision of an ideal world in which relationships were more alike to constellations, a beautiful web spread like a safety net. There was something inspiring about Demeny Edar, and Glain was in sore need of guidance. If Nall wasn’t going to talk to him and be a father…

“ _Cry when you’ll realize that other men have taken your place,_ ” Glain mused in bitterness.

 

After a few monotonous hours, the train slowed down and silenced, then shuddered a bit as it came to halt in Lacoria. Some of the passengers left and were replaced with three others – an elderly woman wearing a coarse blue dress, a scrawny-looking young man whose neck scales had a nasty rash and a middleaged woman who was so absorbed by the book she was reading, that she didn’t care for social manners at all.

The scrawny man with the itchy neck ended up next to a woman already sat by the window (who shuffled even closer to the window), and the elderly woman sat next to Glain, heaving her huge trunk onto the seat next to hers.

“Can you believe it?” she asked him in a way that implied it was a continuation of a thought that had been gnawing at her for intolerably long, “One hundred people boarding this train, and not a single one offered to carry my packing. Not that I would’ve taken the offer, but still! Back in my day, I would’ve been as swarmed with offers of help as I used to be with suitors,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head. “And the rain! Headed for the capitol, I bet. Water drops the size of baby heads: you could drown voles with that weather – so, you’re headed into the world? Where are you going? Duty calls, or just exploration?”

“Isn’t it often both at the same time?” Glain pleasantly replied. “But now that you mention it, I’m really contemplating a stop at the Department of Meteorology in Culat, see if anyone’s got an explanation for this awfully rainy year we’re getting thus far,” he nodded. “At least it’s likely a good year for the formalists,” he joked a little and waved his PADD.

As they chit-chatted, the woman revealed to be a fashion reporter.

“The students of Lacoria’s University of Fine Crafts really are getting better each year. Look,” she’d fished up her photo-padd, flicking through images of dashing young men clad in rather disorderly, almost sexual garments: “That one would look good at you,” she reckoned as she let the scroll stop at one of the dark blue garments: all the cuts were elegant and chaste, but the form of the getup was one that flattered the male’s waist and, as a result, his ass. The picture taken from behind was especially nice.

“Ah, yes, that one is a relief and probably better fit for publication than some of the previous ones,” Glain grinned in amusement. “The shoulder cut is really very nice indeed, that could pass very well on screen – I always look the shoulders and neckline since it’s what’s most visible on camera,” he explained shortly.

“I thought you would,” came the agreement. “They are some of the nicest parts on a male, aren’t they? But I can’t write that in an article, or I may as well go back to writing reviews of romance fiction,” she snorted but went on: “Did you know they’ve started to allow men in the fashion industry to wear their hair long? Well, it’s all wigs, of course, but still – look at this,” she flicked forward to an albino man wearing a green suit – with white hair going all the way down to his hips, and frosty blue eyes fastened on the camera. “It’s one of the best photos of them all, but I don’t think I’ll be allowed to use it – _albino_ and _with long hair_ , no, I think my superior will find it too disorderly. But I’ll keep it for myself.”

“Ah, yes, indeed,” Glain approved, then in a much lower voice: “ _May I ask for a copy?_ ” he asked. And cleared his voice a bit: “I have a friend who is very much into fashion and I believe he’d very much appreciate those photos. He did win a prize once, as dilettante designer.”

The woman brightened up.

“Why, of course! Just let me establish a link and I’ll send it right over – I have some others you might enjoy, too,” she added in a lower voice and winked, “and if things continue to go your way, I believe you’ll soon have ways to contact some of these models. Societal advancement can be such a stepping stone, sometimes.”

Glain chuckled but still sent her a bit of a chastising look.

“It’s all about good networking,” he agreed instead, which was a chaste-enough statement that it couldn’t lead to any incrimination. “I’ve got an eye for fashion; truly, that’s necessary in my profession. Still, what we chose to wear also holds a significance; it reflects on us, socially. I personally take care in choosing daring trends, although in due caution, of course – the streams of good taste can be tumultuous,” he reckoned. “But I do think that art is necessary for our society to strive, and I wish to support it. After all, artists are born with talent in all social classes, so what a best way to represent Cardassia but to dress in its creativity?” he raised an eyerdige. “And truly, I see men wearing longer hair everyday. I heard whispers from the Assembly, that the formal standards are to be reviewed toward something lengthier for males, and allowing shorter cuts for females too,” he told in confidence.

“I-I think those are terrible things,” interrupted the itchy-neck guy, as he evasively looked everywhere but on the people he was talking to, “I-I-I think it’s better if we keep it orderly s-so that, so that people can know who is a woman and who is a man. We don’t need confusion. So much confusion. I didn’t like the show at all.” At that, the elderly woman snorted and shook her head.

“The confusion is in your head, not in the haircuts,” Glain gave him a dull look. “If you can’t tell apart a man and a woman, you might be the one in need of ordering. Careful what you say or someone might think you’re socially-confused…”

The man didn’t answer to that, but instead muttered some more to himself and eventually left, after fidgetting nervously for a minute or two. The woman by the window dropped her shoulders in relief.

“I thought he’d never leave,” she admitted with distaste, “I hope that wasn’t some sort of infectious disease – I can feel my scales crawl just thinking about it,” she shuddered a bit, and the elderly woman shrugged.

“It’s probably just reberatis, or an autoimmune disease of some sort; I wouldn’t worry about it – ah, here we go,” she chimed as well, as her camera had managed to connect with Glain’s PADD, loading files onto it. The fact that she hadn’t even asked him if she could proceed was beside the point, and Glain quickly enabled the download in a secure folder – the sort that could be washed thoroughly, because this was still his professional PADD.

“I believe that you’ve got everything you need on your PADD,” the fashion reporter eventually smiled. “You’ll find me in the metadata if you need me – and I think I’ll go see where our comrade scratchy-neck went. I would like to have a word with him, in case he’s upset,” she winked and got up, lifting her trunk with some effort.

“Do you need assistance with this?” Glain sweetly gestured at the trunk, “a charming person such as yourself shouldn’t need to go anywhere without a man to do her bidding along the way,” he flashed a smile.

The offer gained him a flash of teeth and an appreciative hum.

“I shall endeavour to carry my own burdens, but your offer is both appreciated and appropriate, and shall be remembered. In case I ever see you again,” she winked one last time and disappeared alongside those words.

 

As Glain found out through the trip, the metadata wasn’t just the woman’s contact information. It truly contained what information was most incriminating about The Society – how to find them, where and when, and tenets on what to do and what never to do. A most educational read for the remainder of the train ride, which proved quite uneventful – the next station marked the departure of the woman by the window, and the station after that was Culat, which greeted its visitors with a sky glowing in late evening sunset colors, orange like fire as it reflected in the wettened paving and architecture.

## * * *

Luyeour stood by the gates separating the train station from civilization, waiting for his guest with his hands clasped behind his back, nervously tugging at the red sleeves. Red was part of a current fashion trend, and he’d gotten his silk garment as a gift from a friend who had more sense for fashion than she did for money’s worth.

Glain on his behalf had come clad in dark raiment, mostly synthetic and close to the body – quite shaping too. The sleeves and shoulders featured abstract swirly patterns of velvet, shimmering in a beetle green-murk blue gradient that fit perfectly with some golden highlights on the bodice of the vest. It was a bit feminine, in that it was a bit longer than was usual for what was considered to be manly, but still allowed to glimpse at the young man’s only rounded parts. His neck was chastely covered by the black collar of the shirt underneath the jacket, and a bag hung at his shoulder. His stride was confident and light, as if he weighed about nothing. Which he did, but that was a bit aside the point.

“Ah, my missed friend,” he greeted Luyeour with a bright smile. “What a pleasure to see you so radiant in this shade of warmth. I truly have been in the waiting of being in your company again,” his eyes glittered with malice already. “Shall you take me through your wise and beautiful city?” he lifted his forearm in an arm pump fashion, as was common to lead the way or require the other to do the same – only, he formed a small circle with his little finger, as instructed in the special data delivered to him.

Luyeour paid the greeting back with a court bow, looking discretely to the left with just a hint of a smile – as was the return signal these days.

“If you insist, we may go on foot, but the weather is both wet and cold. I might have to treat you to the warmth of my sauna once we arrive – and perhaps, this would prove too warm for you?” they started walking, Luyeour still carrying his hands behind his back.

Glain looked at him, a bit astounded but enthused.

“You have your own... Wait, of course you do,” he chuckled, remembering just _who_ had picked and funded Luyeour’s dwelling. “I haven’t been to the sauna in... far too long,” he admitted freely. “Then that’s an invitation I cannot pass,” he smiled almost cheekily.

Surprised that his offer was taken – but delightfully so – Luyeour brightened into a wide grin.

“Neither have I,” he admitted rather easily, “not since... well, you know,” he shuddered a bit. “I also have an indoors swimming room, though it’s pretty small, and mostly for soaking and play. It’s got some unorthodox alterations that I’ve been looking to get removed, but they’re um, they’re still there so, maybe we won’t use that room. But,” he cleared his throat from the disorderliness, “I _can_ show you the university. There might even be some enthusiastic experts left there, still working. Most of us are the kind who stay late.”

“But why bother those experts when I have you ready at hand?” Glain grinned back. “And as you said, the weather isn’t best today – surely, the university deserves a better sky. Your place however has its own ceiling, I presume, and I must admit that I do hold curiosity for the walls too, and for the life as much ...No, what am I saying,” he giggled, “For the life, all the more. That is to say, the host,” he tightened his lips into a wide smile that closed like a delightful dead end.

“Far be it from me to deny my guest’s wishes,” Luyeour chimed and glanced sidewise at the other, still minding the cameras around them. He would’ve asked Glain if he was sure about what he was doing, but not when half of the shadows were leering over them like an elderly gossip lady ring armed with knives. Instead, he took the conversation to food:

“I know a really good place that does little flavoured bread swirls and deep fried fish hearts,” he offered.

Glain gave him a cute face at that.

“If you crave for something sweet, I’ll let those rival with me, then. And as for myself, I know I can count on you to delight me all through my stay – you are such a dear,” he cooed almost innocently.

“I... would’ve thought you’d be hungry, after such a long trip...” Luyeour finally freed one of his hands, to motion behind him toward the train station.

“That’s very precious of you, and dinner is welcome,” Glain followed his lead. “It was a rather interesting trip, too, and my, my… Take-away food will be most fit for me to share with you some insight about the latest fashion défilé in Lacoria. A photographer had the generous kindness to share with me some pictures she took there… You might find them quite enjoyable and fascinating,” he nodded. “Best enjoyed in the calm of one’s home than in the business of any restaurant,” he concluded, giggled a little and looked at his date with something more fond in the eye. “I’ve missed you. It sounds overdone, I know, but I _have_ been looking forward to being in your company again.”

Over those words, they rounded a corner, heading through a large alley which seemed almost carved out of the house body, a snake-like light protruding over each end of the tunnel.

Culat had its peculiarities, and its fondness for indoors-gardens was one of them. A great deal of the cityscape, as seen from the ground, slithered through tunnels and houses. Sometimes, these tunnels beamed together on artificially maintained gardens, protected under forcefield ceilings, kept flourishing by artificially induced rain. The one Luyeour had just ushered himself and Glain into, was one that closely simulated the climate as it had been on Prime some two thousands years ago. Botanists tried to keep it as close to honesty as possible, and the grounds served as an object of study for the nearby agricultural and botanical schools.

Lush shrubs with glowing flowers led the way on each side of the little mud path, and beyond them were trees adorned in orchids, moss and mushrooms.

Glain admired and asked a bit about the surrounding, and the chit-chat went on easily for a while. It was a simple conversation in which both men could relax.

They crossed a bridge or two, passing over channels carrying waterway shuttles – a clever invention in that it required a lot less power to commute, but requiring a lot of maintenance instead, as the water was… well, as water was in Cardassia. At least, the channels were guarded by many fences and some forcefields too (which, even if they required power, still consumed less energy according to the local Ressources Watch. Whether there was lobbying behind those stats or not wasn’t something people should debate too openly.

At last, they reached the little restaurant, and Glain got a little excited. It’d been a long time since he’d had a somewhat romantic date like that.

The restaurant formed a warm oasis in an otherwise silent and darkening evening, music pouring through the open doors, calmly and sweetly, like the honeyed light cast across the street. People were still seated in the outdoors area, talking drowsily with one another, voices buzzing like insects on the wind, drunk on the merriness that only pleasant companionship could bring.

The interior was just as relaxed – it wasn’t a classy place, but everything it held perfectly met the requirements one would need to be defined as cozy. Bronze brown walls valved inwards, like the shape of an egg. Stretching around the edge were the seats, with the kitchen in the middle – a staff of three worked the instruments with energized movements.

The electronic menu flickered a bit on the screen as they stepped up to the counter to have a look. Luyeour explained briefly to Glain that they had revived the old system for orders when they got short on staff, but that he kind of missed ordering from an actual person.

“There’s something very un-Cardassian about this kind of system,” he told as he flicked through the pages of offers, “I adore the food they make here, and I know they are highly skilled, but isn’t there something very barebones about it like this? Part of the atmosphere: entirely missing. I hope someone qualified moves here soon. That’s the problem, you see – the people of Culat are of the scientist breed, and scientists aren’t the sweetest of this world. This kind of work, they’d never dream of taking it. In fact,” he hammered some numbers into the order, specifying that he wanted a serving for two, “some of them are probably some of the most awful people in this world. We are, after all, constantly competing against each other’s progress. I remember that one incident in the agricultural university: someone created a formula to kill weeds, and since the State endorsed it, it took well over a century and thousands of people gone sick for anyone to actually listen to the scientists who claimed that the poison was, well, poisonous. Who would’ve guessed?” he added with an eyeroll. “Do you want sweet, salty or sour?”

“Salty will fit perfectly,” Glain chose politely. “But then, isn’t that the same poison that was used on Bajor, just prior to the Withdrawal?” he asked in a lower voice, since mentioning those events wasn’t most favorable. “Or maybe it was something else; I think the name was different. Then again, maybe only the name was different,” he rolled his eyes as well. “I know that my grandmother used some of that thing at work and in our garden, back in the days. She stopped when both the cats and the voles around started to have strange birth defects. She reported it, but since she had no scientific evidence of the correlation, her report was ignored, as were countless of similar ones, even though, by the number of similar reports involving the same elements, that should have counted as a study in itself.”

“I think it’s an act of preserving authority,” Luyeour answered with ease as he specified the flavour of the couple’s menu, and added an extra cup of spiced Kanar sauce to go with it, “you have to weigh the damage done to the individual against the damage done to society and general trust. It’s easier to phase out usage of old products in the shadows, than to put a halt on a flourishing production in front of the public eye. At least, in the end, the Cardassian decision was made, and that’s what matters – as for what was used on Bajor, I have no idea, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Once the final ban landed, I’m sure there were still vats upon vats left of the venom. It would have been a waste of good labour and resources to just disintegrate it all.”

Glain nodded at that.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this substance also found usage in the war against the Maquis. I hear some in Central Command find it to be a worthy tactique, to destroy land infested by vermin, and depollute it later. Whether that is truly good for us or not isn’t up for me to calculate; I’m neither a military tactician nor a botanist,” he told in good Cardassian faith, then paused and smiled. “There is a relief in this, don’t you think? Alien species of the Federation seem to be plagued with a need for every individual to have opinions about absolutely everything and nothing. It’s no wonder their worlds are so chaotic, really. The alien species living in the Union and serving it are freed from such needs, and they seem to thrive all the better. I think it’s because they were taught thankfulness,” he paid a thankful smile to the working kitchen staff.

“How stressful that must be,” Luyeour mused as he guided Glain around the circular desk, to the other side, where their order would be delivered. “As much as I value what I bring to my profession, I couldn’t even begin to imagine how exhausting it would be if I haf to worry about everyone else’s responsibility the same way I do for what is mine,” he spread his fingers over the surface of the desk, looking at them thoughtfully. “I have observed, however, that there are some even here who insist on having opinions rather than accepting facts. It’s a bit disturbing.”

“It is,” Glain agreed. “I am a rather opinionated person, but I also care to limit most of them to topics I have proficiency in,” he said meekly. “I see no point in arguing over substance devoid of knowledge; I think it’s a bit gross. That is why we have broadcasts that all can follow, so all can have an opportunity to argue over facts rather than fleeting opinions. Just because one talks about something they wish they knew anything about doesn’t build libraries out of ignorance. Thought and observation aren’t enough to replace real, scientific knowledge. Thankfully, such people tend to disappear,” he sighed in pleasant relief. “If one is foolish enough to believe in opinions, one might be foolish enough to leap into more harmful temptations.”

“And is that a fact or an opinion?” Leyour cheekily asked and leaned against the counter. “Here in Culat, science is still alive. What might be considered a disorderly opinion in Lakat, is just a hypothesis here... not yet proven, but not yet disproven either. Some truths, however, shouldn’t be searched for.”

“And some statistics aren’t for us to see either,” Glain smirked with the endearment of a prey finding itself delightfully circled. “It’s true that this place is different,” he glimpsed toward one or two tables where men were most casually bickering over tech-manuals or explaining how to repair automated home systems, for what could be gathered of the conversations. “Seems like a place where I might not need to hide some of my own technological aptitudes,” he added with amusement. “In Lakat, such things are better left out of talks with men, and… women as well, if you’re not trying to hook up. Just mentioning programming or hardware upgrades is too easily taken as a flirting attempt, and if you do know what you’re talking about, it’s easily successful too,” he made a face as to suggest he’d often been successful.

Luyeour chuckled warmly and shook his head.

“Then,” he accepted the brown paper bag of food from the worker on the other side and paid him a hasty compliment and thanks, “perhaps you should come here? I am sure the local justicial Ministry would be thrilled to have such an... intellectual young Conservator, who has such intriguing hypothesises on societal matters,” he grinned a little and started guiding them towards the door. “Jokes aside, I hear we’ve had problems recruiting for justice here. It comes with the scientifically-inclined population: the crimes are often more complex than what you get in the capitol. It takes a knowledgeable and specialized mind to even start to understand petty crimes. Some of our Archons work part-time science, part-time justice. _And_ we have the highest equality rating – almost the same amount of males as there are females in that post, here. Not too difficult, considering how few they are, though...”

“True,” Glain agreed thoughtfully as they regained the streets. “Not counting off-Prime positions, Elar or inhabitable places like the frozen wastes, Culat is one of the large cities with the most demands in highly-qualified Justice representatives. It does have the drawback that this constant need gives off an impression that working there must be complete insanity, and so, even representatives who could actually enjoy themselves here tend to refrain from applying. I believe it gives an opening for the ambitious young ones, but the complexity of the work here soon deters them – which is amusing, because by the time they try to return to where they came from, their position is often filled by someone else. A good thing when ambition was doubled with incompetence,” the young man chuckled and glanced at a particularly intricate fountain statue that was being scrubbed by maintenance workers.

“You know,” he started again, “maybe I _should_ move here indeed. Part-time, maybe. I’d get to see you more, see some other people less…” he tilted his head one side and the other. “I’m serious,” he specified, because his tone could lead one to believe he was joking, “but no worries; I won’t take a hasty decision,” he said more reassuringly.

“It could do you well,” Luyeour agreed, “city people who come here either find the place outrageously boring, or soothing. When I first came here, it almost felt like moving to an alien world – you have to be careful as always, but not in the same way, and the kind of misunderstandings you’d dread in Lakat also exists here, but are triggered by different things. Thankfully, this is a metropolis to which many move in and out, so people are in general very forgiving but,” he grinned a bit, “keep in mind not to try impressing people with your scientific research, or they might either trump you in wit, talk endlessly, or outright steal your idea. Scientists are like authors: we look for inspiration everywhere, and what is spoken isn’t owned... Vesala is even more important and tighter here than in the big city, of course, The Society helps infinitely with that.”

“I guess it’s a good thing for me that I learned secrecy from a young age – it comes with the work,” Glain said rather evasively. “I can reckon, however, that I had a good upbringing, being taught forgiveness from a young age. I think that has protected me from making too many enemies, and helped me to handle social relations with more flexibility. Less paranoia and greed. Giving is liberating, and although we’re being told about it, we aren’t truly taught it. We learn sacrifice, but sacrifice isn’t gift. If we gave and shared more, there would be no need for sacrifice ...and there would be less crime and petty thievery, I’m certain. But that might all be just sweet musing too,” he admitted with a cute look from below.

“Nonetheless, I think it’s kindness of the state to recognize the sacrifices each and everyone of us have to make. Perhaps class plays into your perspective, Your Rokat, but it has been my experience that those of us that give up a lot are grateful to at least get recognition for it,” he nodded to himself as they turned to go through a tunnel, after which they started trailing up a lamp-lit alley towards a complex of hexagon buildings: “It gives a sense of belonging – not all of us can join the military and perform such an honorable sacrifice as these good men and women do, but we can all devote _something,_ each in our own small way. Discomfort, Your Rokat, needs to be rewarded with kind words and acknowledgement. Giving, I should hope, does not invoke discomfort – and doesn’t, therefore, need the same repayment in understanding.”

Glain replaced a chuckle with a tender smile, for the words were greatly similar to some he had spoken too, a few years back.

“Do you know that you are absolutely right, Your Ador?” he looked at him quite fondly for a few seconds. “Discomfort isn’t the only thing that needs to be rewarded with kind words and acknowledgement, however… I think most everything in this life should get more acknowledgement. Not just pain, not just toughness and stark endurance. Life is a celebration of joy and suffering entwined,” he shared more distantly, then focused again. “But it’s true, there is pleasure in torture sometimes, and some of us do like to subject themselves to torments of their own design so they can be soothed with kind words and acknowledgement. If it’s a class matter, then that does explain your own willingness to endure my company. And as the upper class one, then, am I expected to blow your aches away?” he asked rather casually, but with a cheeky glimmer in the eye. “...Once at your place, of course, and that sauna of yours…”

It was good that they were rather alone and that the tunnel distorted sounds enough that they might not be overheard. Luyeour’s neck had darkened and he looked away, eyes seeking for something reasonable to look at.

“Why, isn’t it your job to blow peoples aches away? You _are_ a Conservator, after all,” he answered meekly.

“I try my best,” Glain replied just as properly, letting the flow of the discussion resume to something more genuinely innocent as he asked about life in Culat – were the waterway shuttles pleasant to use? Were there floods often? Was the rain as bad as in Lakat? Was it true that Culat had some bodies of _water_ (using the word for ‘water’ that didn’t commonly mean ‘death water’), and that people could even swim there as safely as in a thermal establishment? And the heat. Was it good heat, or death heat? – he was curious about this especially given the way the architecture offered so much shadow (which felt pleasant, as nothing was too bright).

The conversation allowed Luyeour to bring up his dearest topic of frustration, which was that the waterway shuttles often were a little too crowded for his personal liking. But, he pointed out, that at least meant that there wasn’t a waste of resources – it would’ve been worse if they moved around half-empty.

“We’re coastal, so the rain hits pretty hard, and it’s usually a lot more windy than what we used to get in Torr. The hefty winds are part of the reason why we’ve built the city like this: it’s not so much to fend off the heat – which yes, can be murderous – as it is to protect against storms. I should take you to see the underground network, it’s quite magnificent. The architecture is a treat to the eye, and it’s a much appreciated way of transportation,” he rounded another corner, and they finally reached the building in which he had his home.

“As for swimming,” he shuffled them through the doors and onto a luxurious glass elevator, which was waiting faithfully at the bottom of the striding stairs, “it’s not exactly true that there’s naturally occuring springs just randomly laying around – the university students put a lot of effort in keeping them clean. It’s amongst their graduation tasks, and highly appreciated by the public. Some of the ponds have fish, but usually not for very long – people like to catch them and eat them. Which isn’t prohibited if you do it only once in a while. It gets to be worse if you’re one of those people who do it daily. It gains you quite a negative image, so you’ll want to be careful.”

Glain was positively enthused by that whole thing.

“I’ve always loved it when you can swim with the fish!” he shared excitedly, knocking his knuckles a bit childishly. “It’s so fascinating, and it feels… It feels really good. It… connects us to the world and nature that gives us life, as Freyar’s daughter said,” he approved. Sweet child, she was. It was good to have met her, even if that was on his last day of work.

He turned more silent as they reached Luyeour’s floor, so he could raise his awareness of surroundings and observe them better, letting his host take the lead. It was thrilling to think that this was a first time coming there, but that there could and might be other times. That this entire place might become familiar. Maybe even very familiar.

Luyeour’s flat was as it had been on the video evidence from the trial – spaceous, two floors mingling in the same space, overlooking the cityscape. Luxurious bedding upstairs and dining compartment downstairs, as well as a more discrete hutch, which held the bathroom and the sauna – things every Cardassian would enjoy in their home.

The light flickered on as they entered, glum and cozy, and the speakers started pouring the track they’d been on when he left – a recording of a crackling campfire and some discrete insectoid background noise.

“Welcome to my home, at least for the moment being,” Luyeour smiled at Glain and crossed the hallway to set the food on the table, where he also started to remove his shoes.

Glain followed him, taking off his shoes too, and his jacket, under which he wore his high-collared ...but sleeveless shirt. If the black collar suggested something strict and sober while the jacket was on, the trick was most deceiving as the shirt wrapped tightly around the body and featured a much thinner fabric from under the neck and downward, which, while still black and concealing enough, gave little to the imagination as to the shapes of skin and scales underneath. A thin stream of shimmering blue-green fabric lined the bottom of the collar and wisped down and around the body, like a leash ending in a twirl from the back to the front, descending towards hidden areas of the pants’ groin. Bare-footed, Glain acted casual, and as if the glimmering black nail polish on his toenails and some of the scales tracing the bones were all absolutely normal.

“Thank you for having me home, Your Ador,” he purred as he walked in and stood behind Leyour, setting his hands on the other’s hips and kissing the back of his neck, behind the ear, where it smelled good. “I appreciate your company a lot,” he whispered and moved to the side to look at him, and so his friend might look at him too.

The sight that met him wasn’t at all what Luyeour had expected, and he quickly turned away again, to unpack the food from the bag. Restraining himself when Glain had set _that_ level to his appearance wasn’t going to be easy – it was, in a way, rather rude of his guest to be this luscious when he knew nothing sexual would happen.

“Have you ever had fish hearts before? There are some that are cute – and a small bag of actual ones. They’re very crispy, I’d recommend trying them first,” he turned around again, reaching the small bag to Glain, its dark, glimmering contents peeking out over the top just a little.

“I think it’s more a speciality of Culat than Lakat,” Glain took some and appreciated the crunchiness and the seasoning – it would likely have been a bit bland without the flavored oil. “Nice aroma!” he commented appreciatively and smiled. “Nothing better to bring some news than to try something new as well…” he sighed and took some more. “Lately, I’ve had a rather interesting conversation with a man who had some sound advice to share. I don’t know if he’s part of the Society; he could be, I don’t know. One way or the other, he’s very good at networking, and it was good to listen to his insights. I think that, in a way, I might aspire to grow up to resemble him,” he shared a bit more nervously. “But we can talk of that later; I’m in your home, and I’m with you, and truly, I thirst for all you can say. Anything you’d like to share with me,” he brightened up and his body language relaxed into something even more fresh and fluid; a testament to vitality.

“Aha,” Luyeour wasn’t sure where this was going, but had a haunting feeling that he was supposed to be following, “well, in that case, why not have a seat?” he made a graceful gesture to one of the chairs, then moved behind it to pull it out for the other to sit. “After all, standing up while eating when there’s plenty of comfortable alternatives seem very unrefined to me.”

Glain obliged in sitting, looking as the other did same on the other side of the table.

“I hope I don’t unsettle you, or that I’m not lacking refinement too much then,” he excused himself, composing himself a bit more chastely.

“You don’t,” Luyeour reassured him as he started unpacking their meal and started folding the empty bag. “When I first ascended to the higher levels of society, if you can call it that, I couldn’t even begin to understand all the rules of conduct. For you, people like you, it just... it comes naturally. I don’t know how you do it, really. It takes so much conscious effort for me. Sometimes I wish it was more acceptable to be a bit... un-Cardassian.”

“Maybe that’s something you could allow yourself here, with me, tonight,” Glain suggested. “After all, aren’t we already a bit un-Cardassian? Letting go of manners a little in the safety of the home isn’t so bad. An indulgence we can afford, hm?” he relaxed, setting elbows on the table and his chin on his entwined fingers.

“Can we?” asked Luyeour with a raised eyeridge, “You really are not making it easy for me tonight, Your Rokat. But,” he sighed and leaned backwards a bit, “if you insist, I’ll indulge you. A little.” He could discard some manners and allow himself to speak his mind a bit more freely than usual, without that leading to sex. Right?

Glain giggled and flashed a smile at that.

“You’re really very cute,” he commented and dragged his mealbox closer. “I know I make you writhe, but I promise, patience has its reward,” he told and picked one of the heart-shaped fried fishes. “I chose to be abstinent because the sex I was having wasn’t most healthy – not in matter of disease; I was careful. No, it’s rather that I had sex more like one drinks Kanar, to evade reality and problems for a moment. I wasn’t in the best of places,” he shook his head and sighed. “Nothing like fucking one or two alluring males in the vestiaries of a swimming pool to forget who you are for a moment. I even used to change my face entirely for those indulgences, with makeup,” he reminiscenced over a bite of food. “A strange way to seek for confirmation… But now… Now I get it better. Now I see how confirmation has to come from within first, and how valuable it could be to lay with men I can trust. A mutual trust,” he sweetened. “So, I guess, we just need to trust each other enough.”

Luyeour wasn’t entirely sure what to think of all that Glain had said, and his vivid imagination didn’t help much either, conjuring up ideas of how those things might have looked.

“And how do I know you’re not just saying all these things because you’re needy? I don’t want to end up doing things you’d regret later,” he finally took a bread roll and bit in it thoughtfully.

“A sane concern,” Glain appreciated. “I don’t feel actually needy, if I should be honest. At least, not for sex itself. Even masturbation has been eluding me of late,” he shared with only a bit of blush, yet pressed on: “I’ve thought of the comfort I used to get from sex with strangers and sex with friends, but I haven’t… needed it. The need I feel is for something stronger, I guess. Trust, yes. Not just something physical,” he interrupted himself to search for his words while nibbling on his food.

“Yes… Giving, as I said earlier. I’ve been having sex like a thief. If I’m going to have sex again, I’d rather have it like a lover, with someone who seeks for something mutual. Even my friends have been thieving this eroticism, those forbidden pleasures… I’d rather feel like this relationship is somehow… normal. Like I have a right to exist this way, to love this way, to be dear and tender with someone normal like me,” he blushed more because the words felt a bit awkward. “I don’t know if I’m expressing that very well… It’s all a bit new, and yet, it feels like it’s a yearning that’s always been there… you know?”

Luyeour opened the Kanar-dip and hummed, dipping his bread in it extra slowly, as to give himself some extra moments to prepare his reply.

“Maybe,” he looked at Glain searchingly, “I can’t exactly boast any long track record of normal relationships on my behalf, but I guess that, in theory, I understand what you mean. Me, I... I like sex, I like when it’s part of psychological play. I like the chase, I like the buildup, I like the promise and the release. I like tensions, and the uncertainty. Sex is like... like when you hope for something good, and your hope is proven right. It’s such a blissful arousal when it is like that. Seduction itself can be very erotic. Love? Love is dangerous,” he pursed his lips, “or at least, so I’ve experienced, pretty recently.”

Glain nodded in firm approval.

“Love is awful,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “All that happens with that is, either your lover disappears, never to be seen again, or they go fall in love with someone else and you have to watch them being happy together and stand there with an empty stomach tearing itself apart in sickness,” he grimaced. “I don’t wish to fall in love ever again… It’s too painful,” he looked at the table rather than at Luyeour. “No, seduction and sex, and friendship are sufficient, and safer too. A bit of bliss, a bit of joy, and trust. Honesty,” he dared look at the other again, although the previous topic had worn the shine of his eyes a bit. “I like what’s between us thus far… We may not know each other most well, but we are to each other as persons, not as the fallacies we serve to the outside world. I like it when you writhe and blush, when you yearn to have me, and it makes me want to catch you too.”

“That is... ah, certainly an interesting way to phrase it,” Luyeour cleared his throat and looked across the table, not yet convinced that Glain wasn’t just relapsing from his abstinent vow, “and during different circumstances, I would enjoy very much to be chased and get caught. By you. But, I don’t know if it’s truly what you want. We can... play it tame, for now. Yes?”

Glain raised a slightly surprised eyeridge but nodded meekly.

“If… if you wish, yes, absolutely,” he agreed more sheepishly. “Do you think I might be lying? I mean, I wouldn’t fault you for that – I couldn’t hold the job I have if I weren’t good at lying,” he reckoned. “If you have any doubt, then your consent is what matters; I don’t want _you_ to have regrets afterwards either,” he reached for the other’s hand over the table. “I like you and I don’t want to hurt you. But do you think we might ever have sex, then? I mean, for all I know, these circumstances might not change before long; it could take months, even years… Do you think you… I mean, maybe you need time to learn to read me?” he frowned a little, wondering if that would ever really be a thing either.

“Of course we will!” burst Luyeour and he straightened up in his seat nearly as fast as the scales of his neck darkened, “I mean – I think we will, that is if you don’t get tired of me. It’s just – you said you wanted to stay abstinent for your uncle. You were very determined to stay loyal to that. Now, either you’ve become disloyal, which I doubt, or you and your uncle have redefined the terms of your... agreement, or what to call it,” he caught himself then, interrupting what had been next on the list of what he wanted to ask: if he could _ask_ said uncle for allowance. What a stupid idea that had been – good that he had some impulse control left.

“The terms were set around the healthiness of my behavior,” Glain answered calmly. “My other uncle however, came to the conclusion that it was now time for me to learn to have a more healing kind of sex. The sort that weaves relations and vesala,” he told in a shyer voice. “This has made me realize that… that I’ve had a need for community. For something alike to The Society, to belong, to feel safe, to express myself. I don’t know if it’s naive; I think it’s Cardassian to seek for a group to be part of. We are social by nature… and I like to be social with you. I find that, while I find you attractive and appealing, I am drawn first and foremost to your company.”

“I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations,” Luyeour answered after a while, although he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to say. “I suppose that, after all that’s happened, I wouldn’t mind a close friendship with someone who knows enough of that already to leave the topic be,” he shook his head and took a nibble of fish. “When Nardine invited me to come visit Lakat, I didn’t know he’d be coming too. And when you ended up interested in me rather than in him, I didn’t understand why. I still kind of don’t understand, but it’s fine. I mean, hindsightedly, he’s been branded a criminal, so I guess it makes sense, but still. Even when I’ve had lovers other than him, they’ve always been connected to his vesala. All my affairs that I had were picked so that they wouldn’t threaten his security.”

“Why am I not surprised…” Glain murmured in bemusement. “I liked his way of talking in the beginning, but it appeared far too fast that there wasn’t much substance behind his words, and that most of his personality hinged on his bank account. And my dear Leyour, if I like numbers, I care much more for a mind who can calculate and compute, than one who can scheme and spend. You and I were a lot closer from the beginning, because of our interests and values. He wanted me like a prize while curiosity drove me to you. And… I like that you still don’t really understand what appeal you hold for me. It’s very endearing. It makes things a bit more vulnerable and delicate,” he started to blush a little and seeked refuge in the food.

Silence settled between them, punctuated only by the soundtrack playing in the background, now accentuated by the sound of rain – this time the real deal, clickering against the glass window.

“It was kind of kinky in a nice way,” Luyeour mumbled distantly as he was dipping another piece of meat in the Kanar sauce, “being his prize. I mean, it sounds stupid when you know what he was like, but there was something very... igniting about it. Degrading in a way, considering that, I guess, most of his vesala were so much higher above me that I must’ve seemed nothing but a small pastime hobby, like when people take care of baby animals and kick them out once they’ve grown up. But he was... he wasn’t ashamed of me, not ever.”

“Considering his character and upbringing, I guess that was something indeed,” Glain nodded. “I never was ashamed of my relations, but then I guess I’ve failed to learn to care about my status. But if dating a Conservator would make you horny, if being made to confess your nasty sins would make you wet, that might just be the spice that would make me care for my career,” he hummed thoughtfully and lusciously. “Yes, yes… Now _that_ would be a drive for me,” he allowed himself to be a bit kinky. “Oh, well, that is if you’d enjoy being my personal convict…”

Crossing one leg over the other, Luyeour too took refuge in his food, even though he wasn’t exactly shy about those things.

“That doesn’t sound all too unpleasant,” he answered evasively, then looked up a little: “When you say dating, do you mean...? Like, in an established way – I’ve done far distance things before. Video calls – I hear some of the particularly entitled members of society get holo-calls, never tried it myself, however.”

Glain snorted a little at that.

“I have,” he admitted with a chuckle, “only I’d coded it a bit, because it was for his birthday, and… well, what would you expect I’d do? His name was _Tret_ ,” he said and laughed some more, shaking his head. “It was _a little_ disorderly,” he suggested more chastly. Better left to imagination too. “I quite like the idea of having a regular partner, but I wouldn’t ask commitment though. So long as we both make sure not to get sick, there’s no harm in that,” he reached for some meat and stole some Kanar dip with it.

“That works for me,” Luyeour admitted, his cheeks firing up in a way that was rather different from the pure sexual tingle in his neck, “I assume that, that you ah, that you’d like to do some courting? I know of several rather romantic places we could go – and a handful of disorderly ones, if that’s what you prefer. All of them perfectly safe.”

“That sounds very exciting!” Glain clapped his knuckles together, “Yes, I think I’d like to. I can’t say I’ve really done that before. You’re so sweet, Your Ador,” he cooed a little. “And you’re very good at making me happy. I hope I can return the feeling,” he leaned back in his seat and reached for the other’s leg with a foot, under the table.

Luyeour promptly got to his feet and nodded to Glain.

“It’s decided then. Would you rather go somewhere romantic or disorderly?” he asked with a glance to the window. The fact that it was raining didn’t really make much of a difference: the path to where they needed to go would be mostly covered by tunnels anyway.

“Your dear Ador, I’m in the mood for both so I’ll let you decide,” Glain got up as well. “But I’ll let you know that the only change clothes I took with me aren’t an ounce less disorderly than this shirt. If you opt for a romantic place, I guess I’ll keep the jacket on,” he chuckled amusedly, circling around the table and gathering the leftovers.

Luyeour opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded.

“Disorderly it is, then,” he nodded at that. “Tell me, do you want me to go as a man – or as a lady?” he asked after some contemplation, “The ID I got for my other persona is still valid. I guess he wasn’t petty enough to ruin that for me.”

“Now that is most intriguing,” Glain admitted. “I… knew of such frauds, but I’ve never tested that in any form. Would you tell me more about the pros and cons before I make my mind?” he asked in sweet, curious politeness.

“Pros: you’ll get away with treating me like a lover openly, and my persona doesn’t have a bad reputation. And you’d get to see me in a dress and makeup, if that’s a pro. Cons: well, it’s unlikely that it’d ever be figured out, but even if it were, you could claim you knew nothing and the blame would be mine alone,” he shrugged. “I know that you’re a famous Conservator and maybe you’d rather not have rumors floating about that you’ve got a lady in Culat. Or perhaps, that’s a reputation you _wouldn’t_ mind – maybe it’d appease your father if he thought there was a woman.”

Glain thought about it, wondering if he even _felt_ like appeasing his father.

“Alright,” he chuckled, “that sounds fun. But if you’re going to put on makeup, so should I, at least for the sake of showing off a bit. If I’m going to call you by another name, then you can do the same with me,” he flashed a pointed tooth.

“Oh, I would certainly love that. What is it you wish for me to call you?” Luyeour asked and traced the table with his fingertips, “We could play a game, pretend it’s the first time we meet – in a sense, I guess it is the first time. What brings you to Culat, dear?”

“Chemistry of course,” Glain replied and snickered with cunning. “I’ll let you ask me my name, and I’ll ask for yours,” he decided with great eagerness shining in his eyes. “Should we get dressed?” he raised his eyeridges and let Luyeour show him to the bathroom.

## * * *

Glain had taken his makeup with him, and while the palette offered disorderly options (if used out of dramatic scenes), he went for the more purely cosmetic side, manoeuvering foundation, highlights and shadows with practiced expertise. With those tricks, one could sculpt the face some more, to change the features to some extent. He made his eyes sharper and deeper, and changed their color with lenses, to a contrastingly pale shade of grey, almost silver. He tweaked the shape of his lips as well, subtly, to change the feeling of them to something more thirsty. The rest of his face made for a cunning character, youthfully smug, stark and harder without being more masculine. He’d thought of a blade when creating this persona. His hair, he slicked down with a strong gel and pigments that gave it a rigid hold and purple tint when the light caught in. For finish, a waterproofing coat, which, while expensive, was much needed, considering the weather outside – it was an affordable cost when one didn’t need to use it everyday.

Along with a stricter body language, Glain could pass for another person entirely. Those movements, both fluid and dangerous, a contrast of stillness and rapid movements, he’d learned them from Enkem.

 

Luyeour, who had retreated to the bathroom for this particular preparation, had opted to slip into something disorderly but cute. Bone white was a recent fashion trend, and despite being the color of innocence, his dress was the kind to enhance features rather than hide them – it was a long dress, but figure hugging, and sporting slits on the side, which went all the way up to his thighs. The area round the neck held open in a V-shape, directing the viewer’s attention to his chest spoon, to which he applied a little blue makeup. He paid special attention to his neck, applying makeup there, and then to his chufa. For the lips, though, he chose a darker color: one of the purple-greys that were popular this season, and he used the same color for his nails.

Shoes were a different story – he liked high-heel boots, white leather and discrete clasps, and the ones he had, he’d been told were rather very disorderly. A good pick for the evening, he figured.

And then came the hair. Out of the various wigs he owned, he opted for the least extravagant one, the kind that gave him shoulder long, wavy hair tied back by a silver string.

Confident that he looked good, he finally abandoned his bathroom to rejoin Glain in the living room. And what a sight that young man had made of himself – it was difficult to believe it was the same man, and at first, Luyeour had a doubt, looking at the other with uncertainty.

“That is... really very amazing,” he admitted at last.

“Lessons learned during sinful nights, my dear,” the young man answered in a deeper voice, walking over to his comparse with a confident, predatory stride.

He stopped one step away to look him over – or her, rather, if that was to be the game – and smirked a little.

“A ravishing sight, you are here… Well in the trends, well by all regards, truly…” he murmured the compliment, eyes flickering in appreciation. “I shall be honored to have you for company tonight, Your…?” he inquired for the fascinating vision’s name, looking up at the dark eyes that now towered him by a little.

“Nitsal,” Luyeour answered and tilted his head backwards a little, “but you may call me Ayrona, unless you like the safety of formalities, in which case I will abide by the limits of your comforts. What may I call you?”

“Sykrain,” the youth answered, “Sykrain Lok,” he specified further. It wasn’t a most uncommon surname. As for the first name, it sounded good when moaned…

“A very eloquent name,” appreciation manifested in a warm voice, and she reached to take his arm.

“If I may, I must admit that I do feel like I am a most fortunate man, to have your company for the night, Your Nitsal,” he purred. “Wherever you’ll lead, I’ll follow – how else could it be when you stand there so entrancing already? I surrender to your designs, Ô captivating lady.”

“I know precisely the place to go – it’s not very far, but I am quite certain you’ll fit right in.”

 

The weather outside was as one would expect – moist. Few people lingered outdoors, and the ones who did strategically moved into the shadows as they were passed by, busy with their own adventures. They walked past some blocks and gardens, crossed through rare specks where the rain actually poured down like waterfalls, and ended up next to an anonymous gate, which Nitsal knocked twice with her hand.

The door opened to reveal a bulky looking man, who eyed them over, then nodded and stepped aside to let them in, closing the door behind them.

Blue carpet led the way down some curved stairs, gradually descending into an area that seemed almost underwater, surrounded by aquariums, through which one could, with some difficulty, spot swimmers practicing their hobbies, and sometimes a little bit more than that.

“We’re much less musically-based than what one might see in Lakat,” Nitsal told in a hushed voice as they turned right in an intersection, entering a more artistically-lit hall, filled with elegant, suggestive statues, some of which held cages with practically nude performers inside.

The center of the hall was much reminiscent of the display hall of the city’s more refined museums, only told apart by the many tables that dotted the surface, some of them secluded by foldable walls.

They took seat at a table in the outskirts, near a large plant that obscured them from prying eyes and Ayrona told that wet smokes were available along with drinks. Sykrain figured he fancied both options, since he surely wasn’t held to the same promises that Glain was bound to.

They went to pass their orders together, for the sake of companionship, flirting and exploration. Sykrain observed the woman, subtly inhaling her perfume and the vaporous atmosphere. This all was most appetizing. Yet, it was difficult not to glance around too much.

“This is artistic…” he commented of a small ...androgynous person, dancing on a table further away.

It was hard to figure if they were male, female or in-between, what with this lithe and rather shapeless body sculpted by flexibility. For a second, the young man had thought them to be a teenager, but a second look reassured him that the performer was just quite tiny ...but with the wondrous scales of an adult. Painted with metallic blue and copperish gold, they shone with each graceful undulation.

“It is just another branch of science,” came the answer as Ayrona cruised them in between tables, jolly people and plants, “they’ve even got a xenobiology theme going on, I think, on every fourth weekday. Everything on the menu is at the very least _half_ -alien, those days,” she gave a sidewise nod to one of the cages as they passed under it, giving a good view of the man who was displaying himself up there, “but today, it’s more orderly.”

Glain would have mentioned something about how his sister would potentially enjoy such days, and to fulfill some men’s degradation kinks, but since he wasn’t there, Sykrain just grinned.

“I guess that means we’ll have to come again,” he answered instead. “I’ve never had it with an alien And you? Have you ever fucked an alien?” he asked most shamelessly.

“Such language!” burst Nitsal, eyes widening with reproach, though she paused in her movement only for a short moment, before continuing over to the bar disk, where a woman was busy pouring Kanar for a gang of tipsy young men.

“The answer to the question is no, anyway,” she continued and leaned on the counter, gazing at Sykrain with half-closed eyes, “You’d like to imagine such things with me, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know, I might just rather imagine such things between you and I,” he raised an eyeridge. “You are refined and I’m a bit of a scoundrel,” he whispered with malice, letting her pass the order to a less busy bartender.

Their order was processed right away, and they were handed a little metal tag.

Walking back to their table, they admired a bit more the swimmers, and especially a couple displaying themselves in their erotic water dance. Sykrain appeared knowledgeable about such arts, but not practiced himself. He’d taken safety lessons, he admitted when Ayrona cheekily inquired, but didn’t find time nor need for more artistic ones.

“I might be guilty of being a bit sexually greedy,” he sighed. “I do like to enjoy myself, and while I like to be a beautiful display, I prefer the lust I show to be genuine. I’ve heard it’s good to see me plead,” he shared in confidence as they sat again. “I like to please.”

“How decent of you,” Ayrona answered and leaned sidewise, gazing at the ghostly reflection of her companion on the pool’s glass wall, and the couple that shone through. “I tend to think that the aim to please your partner in crime is a given, but perhaps I have been spoiled with generous lovers,” she looked away from the mirror image, observing the original instead. “When you say you have taken the safety lessons… which ones do you imply?”

“You mean besides learning how not to drown nor drown others?” he raised an eyeridge and stilled in contemplative mystery, suddenly closed and barely readable. “Pain can be a dangerous game. For the soul more even than for the body, at times. No,” he warmed up again, “I didn’t take the most formal lessons in such arts, although I had a teacher for a time. I haven’t practiced those things a lot either since then. It’s been more about restrain,” he suggested.

“Does sound quite improper – informal lessons with informal teachers,” Ayrona purred and leaned forward, elbows on the table and her chin gently perched on her palm. But then, she had to lean back, because their orders arrived, set on the table by a sweet-looking young girl.

“If you want anything more, chime me,” she giggled with a wink, placing a digital key on the table, “and I was told to relay compliments to the two of you, although the sender wishes to remain anonymous. This is from him,” she added and set a box of chocolates on the table, then nodded again and left.

Sykrain raised an eyeridge to that too, glancing at the box and at Ayrona.

“I do enjoy being treated with gifts, although I’ve learned, in Lakat, to always scan anything and everything for any sign of poison, _especially_ when there is no sender. How does it go, here, in the city of Science?”

Ayrona shook her head at that.

“Responsibility is on the establishment here,” she told and picked a gold-sprinkled praline, “it’s part of the atmosphere here, to allow anonymous gifts to be ordered for couples or individuals you wish to admire from afar, to let them know they’re watched – and appreciated. So everything’s run through the front desk – these chocolates will have been paid for by someone, but made by and delivered by the working staff here. It’s completely safe,” she grinned and then took a bite, looking around a little in an attempt to figure out who exactly might have sent it. “Sometimes, succeeding in finding a secret admirer can be quite an experience. As part of a game, you could say.”

“I can well imagine,” Sykrain hummed with soft reserve, observing the chocolates and letting his mind settle around the room some more.

As he picked a delicate rectangle alike to red velvet – a coating of surel spices – he attuned with what could be felt in the room. An equally delicate exercise, when past and present imprints mingled, but Glain had several years of training for himself, and when Sykrain looked away from the box, he had a few options on himself. There was a delightfully plump woman in a purple and yellow dress, drinking at the bar counter, but the strong feeling of admiration emanating from her was probably rather tied, like her gaze, to the rump of a man sitting just two stools away from her. A young woman (or if it was a man in drag?) was lost in the loving contemplation of a handsome man, as they stood by a decorative fountain, eyes interlocked. And then… Yes, Sykrain thought as he eyed at his last guess, biting in the praline, which was stuffed with a soft cream tasting of red Kanar.

Ayrona followed his gaze and made a bit of a frown as it landed on an elderly couple deeply engrossed in a passionate argument. Then, the man laughed and slapped his knees, leaning back in his chair, shooting them a glance and, realizing they were being watched, grinned with a row of white teeth, and gave them a discrete handwave, before going back to his courting.

“You know him?” Ayrona asked at last.

“Absolutely not,” Sykrain picked his glass, lifted it to the man only politely, and locked his eyes back on Ayrona. “Why, I’ve never been held in a detention cell, nor interrogated,” he added smugly, in-character.

His gaze unphased from the present a second only, and was sharper yet when he focused again. He leaned toward his comparse too, a nice taste of Kanar on the lips.

“Nice as his present may be, its taste and fragrance fail to compete with your charm and appeal,” he flattered her huskily. “Those chocolates are good, but I believe they’d be better yet if I tasted them from your lips. It’s chemistry, you know… Something that only happens when compatible molecules meet and entwine…” he reached with a hand to caress her throat, just under the jaw.

The gesture brought forth quite a generous amount of blushing. Ayrona let her answer be that of a kiss, rather chaste, as the table divided them far enough that anything deeper would be impractical.

“You’ll have to teach me more of this chemistry of yours,” she murmured in the aftermath of the kiss, lips still touching, “informal teacher as you are...”

“Informal student as you will,” he replied and flicked his tongue, stealing a lick of her lips as he retreated to an almost-formal composure.

Going onto more kinky words would have been easy, but beyond Sykrain’s character, Glain wondered if that would truly be a good thing. He thought of Delna a bit, and thought of the lust he felt, building in his chest and in his nether parts. This very type of desire was the kind he’d tried to sober away, and there it was, back again.

He drank from his glass to try and avoid letting through any doubt that Luyeour might perceive and interpret as a proof that time hadn’t come for there to be sex.

“Do you wish to know your teacher, Your Nitsal?” he asked smokily yet seriously, after a short while of contemplation.

“Always,” answered Ayrona as she started to ready the pipe set they’d gotten – made of dark purple glass, the steam smoke inside seemed almost like mist, promising sweet fragrance, “and I hope he wishes to know me, too,” she shot her company a quick look. “I can’t make up my mind about you – you seem sharp, civil, shameless and self-contained, and the contradictions already hold a certain allure to me. I am very prepared to know more of these mysteries you hold. Maybe you’d care for a game?”

“If I get to know of what lays within the depths of you,” he accepted with luscious interest. “Shall you choose the rules?”

“Would be selfish of me to pick all the rules; why don’t we make them together?” Ayrona stroked her left foot against Sykrain’s leg under the table. “What about we ask each other questions – but any question you ask, you must be prepared to answer yourself, in case the other decides they don’t want to answer? Do you have any suggestions for rules?”

Sykrain took a minute to think.

“If one doesn’t want to answer the question, they may ask the other for their answer or require of them to do something instead,” he proposed.

Ayrona pursed her lips a little and they settled to limitating that one rule to what remained legal to do, and since Ayrona was the woman, she started the game. She suckled a little on the edge of the pipe, tickled by the smoke as she blew it out through her nostrils.

“What’s your opinion about the military?” she chose a daring question and got an offensive answer – “ _an expensive brothel_ ” was how Sykrain qualified it.

In his turn, he asked which ministry of Cardassia should be the least funded, finding with surprise that Ayrona thought that art and culture were fit to stand on the bottom line – “Art is something that arises when all other needs are sufficiently met. Without safety, no culture. Sickness, starvation and war aren’t cultures, they are ailments that have to be battled first and foremost,” was her argument.

As she returned the opposite question – “Which should be the _most_ funded department of Cardassia?” – the young man hooked up onto the chance to come back at her, stating the importance of art and culture:

“What makes us Cardassian isn’t our capability to eat or fight, but our capability to weave complex, beautiful, intricate things with those refined minds of ours. Without art, without culture, there is no life, only survival, and that is why it is our duty to enjoy those as much as we can, so we can truly call ourselves Cardassians,” he exposed. “ _But_ it is true that life needs to be supported in its basic functions too, and that is why _healthcare_ is important, and to rid ourselves of disease, we must fight the disease in every one of us. Difficult to call ourselves civilized when eighty percent of the population is regularly very sick, uhm?” he pointed with the pipe. “I hear environmental restoration would also greatly alleviate the needs for healthcare at all, so I suppose those two departments could be less or more fused, since both are about healing anyway. Healing plants, healing people…” he shrugged and exhaled smoke. “Have you ever faced death?”

“No, not really. The closest to facing death I had was when my mother had a miscarriage, but then I’m not entirely sure that it counts as death when it’s not even a person yet,” she shook her head and looked sidewise at the elderly couple – only to discover that they had been replaced by a much younger couple, of which one was on the table, and the other had his head in her lap. “Have you ever schemed to sabotage someone else?”

“You could say I overthrew and killed, considering the success of those schemes,” he hummed. “And you? Have you ever stitched relationships together so they might heal rather than require entire parts to be severed off?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t had a lot of relationships,” Ayrona evasively answered and looked at Sykrain only through the corner of her eye, “Tell me about your schemes, what were they like?”

“I think you can guess enough for that answer to be jarring,” Sykrain answered on Glain’s behalf. “Maybe there is something I could do to entertain you further instead?”

“I see,” Ayrona smiled sweetly, “perhaps, then,” she got up and walked over to his side, gazing down at him through half-closed eyes, “let me kiss you,” she pressed him against the backrest of his chair and straddled him, leaning over him like a snake about to lash its prey – except her kiss was soft at first, then wet as she allowed some tongue, all while her fingers played over his neckscales, outlining them.

The young man let her do, shivering in welcoming of those touches and sensations. Fire ignited easily in a body that had been yearning for sex, and the heat inside made the outside feel all the colder. Sykrain felt like a warm rock of lava in a shell of melting ice. He moaned through the kiss and exhaled another moan when she granted him his breath back, realizing he’d grabbed her hips and grown bolder in his pants.

“I believe it is my turn to ask…” he grunted in a hoarser voice, “Have you ever had sex with family?” he grinned, knowing he’d enjoy himself whether she’d answer or not.

“Wh-what kind of question is that?” Luyeour’s shock shone through a little before he could get a hold of himself, clearing his throat a bit: “That would be very disorderly – of course I haven’t – and you? Have you had sex with family?”

“Stealing my questions, are you?” Sykrain grinned more deviously, showing some teeth as a playful laughter. “Not fair; try another or ask me to do something,” he answered with the delight one could bear when the trap they laid closed onto a good prey.

“Very well...” Ayrona agreed, leaning forward teasingly before getting up to sit on the table in front of Sykrain, “kiss my thighs. At least ten times,” she ordered, because she could.

He could figure she’d fished inspiration from the other table, and while that was very disorderly, he didn’t mind in such a place. He kneeled on the floor in front of her to hold an even more submissive position, and softly hiked up her dress, revealing the tender thighs beneath.

“I shall kiss you, Mistress, and kiss you at least as good as you kissed me,” he told her before bending down to chastely lay his lips over the scaley line of her left lap.

The next kiss went further down the inside of the thigh, progressing toward where the skin turned most soft and sensitive, nearing the groin. Doing so, he spread her legs further apart, and his kisses turned wetter too, warm tongue washing over the delicate hide. As he kissed a side, then the other, his nose caressed the fine underwear in between, as well as what the lingerie concealed, and he hotly moaned over the male parts there.

With eyelashes flickering from pleasure, Ayrona abandoned herself with a small moan, leaning backwards on the palms of her hands. As far as teasing went, she’d never been against it, not even when it turned her pained with desire.

It was well over ten times when he raised his gaze to her, grey eyes reading that he could go on for a long time if she only wished. She nearly wanted to ask for more – but held herself back, letting her lower lip go from the biting she hadn’t realized she’d treated it too.

“Well, ask me a question, then,” her voice had turned husky and her neck nearly black, but her eyes sparkled with challenging curiosity.

“Have you ever been with a woman? Sexually,” Sykrain asked with insolence, sitting back on the chair and resting his forearms and palms on her spread-out lap (yet without weighing on her too much).

Ayrona tilted her head to the side and leaned forward, a cheeky little smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh, no – I prefer men,” she told him huskily and continued forward, running finger tips over his arms in a way to catch them, so that she could slide down from the table and back into his lap, towering over him. “I prefer handsome young men with lies in their eyes and truths in their minds,” she inched closer with each word, slipping her arms up over Sykrain’s neck to caress the sensitive scales just at the base of the skull. “I prefer those whose stakes are high and whose ambitions are still ahead of them, those who still grow, those who still hunger for more, who haven’t yet grown comfortable and confident in their place in this world,” she blinked slowly, eyeing his lips and breathing against his skin. “ _You_ ,” she breathed like a moan, “I prefer people like you, Your Lok,” she nearly kissed him before straightening up, setting her teasing hands on his neck instead, stroking the scales up to the jaw, and holding him there with soft caresses. “If the Obsidian Order were to contact you, telling you that you might either request of them to kill three people of your choosing, or protect one person of your choosing for a full year, what would you do...?”

“I…” Sykrain started, but his voice dried in his thirsty throat, forcing him to start again: “I would choose the first – those I wish to protect are already quite capable and resourceful,” he explained and cleared his throat some more, hands full of Ayrona’s ass, and his hips rocking slowly. “I’d kill a Soukaran father of my knowing, a politician responsible for the death of our friends, and the last one… I’d keep for the future. One never knows when an exit will be needed; one that allows for rest among the flowers,” he suggested and kissed the other’s throat. “If danger was upon the Union and you could save one person only by saying their name, would you know whom to call?

“Oooh, _savage_ ,” purred Ayrona and nipped after his lips playfully, leaning closer again, “both your answer and the question...” she leaned their chufas together and let her hands disappear into the dark of his hair. “If you bend me right, perhaps that name would even be yours – would you like me to call your name?”

“If you keep on making me this wet and warm, then I’m quite certain I would like it; I do like the way you make me feel right now, and the daring shamelessness of your moves,” he moved his hips some more to stroke the bulge in his pants against her. “But just how shameless are you daring to be, here and now?” he asked hoarsely.

“That is a question that begs for actions rather than words,” chasticized Ayrona and she straightened up a bit. “I daresay you’re cheating the game – would you perhaps like to ask a different question? Or should we come up with some sort of punishment?”

He grinned at that.

“Would be coward of me now to try and escape punishment, hm?” he showed more neck. “How shall you punish me, sumptuous mistress?” he asked in hot defiance.

At that, she let him out of her vision and straightened up to better observe the room and the people in it. The elderly couple who had gifted them chocolates earlier were back in the room – the woman was dancing rather naughtily with a much younger gentleman, while the man was sat in a couch, deeply invested in whatever he was reading on the PADD he held in his lap.

She grinned and got off of her sentient seat, leaning against the edge of the table gesticulating with eyes and a hand towards the man.

“Go ask him if he’d like to fuck me for you,” she dared him and straightened up.

The young man stared at her with awe, mouth gapping just a bit but a smile in the eyes. That was vicious.

“Sykrain Lok is no coward,” he took her up to the challenge and stood up, straightening his clothes and removing his jacket entirely now, to better display himself as he walked up to the man.

When he returned, Ayrona had started to sip on his drink and was a bit dismayed to be asked if she truly was up to her offer – the old man asked. Frozen with the beverage halfway to her lips, she sent the man a short glimpse (yet long enough to note the highly amused grin that he carried), then looked back at her company. At last she closed her mouth and cleared her throat.

“I-I mean, sure, I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t serious, would I?” she hadn’t thought this through at all, especially not the way her male anatomy could make for an unwelcome surprise to a gender-conforming Ministerial officer. “I-I think it’d be rude to say I’m not actually interested, and I don’t want to be rude,” she no longer was sure what to do.

“Let me handle it,” Sykrain held a hand to her cheek and went away with _her_ glass, back to the man.

“My dear,” he started smokily as he landed himself next to him in the sofa, “the heat in here is something,  isn’t it? Here, she thought you deserved a kiss by proxy, and some refreshment. She meant to ask if you’d have _me_ , but you know, this kind of female fantasy is easy for the male mind to misunderstand,” he chuckled pleasantly, offering the glass. “She said you may kiss me as well if you’d like to feel something warmer than the glass on which she put those delicious lips of hers — if I were you, I’d take the drink and dream myself away a second,” he sighed in content. “Although,” he glanced at the dancing wife, “one can wonder if a man like you needs to dream when he is so fortunate already,” he hummed in appreciation.

“Ha, women,” the man snorted in amusement and took the drink, then followed the other’s gaze to his wife. “Oh, we allow each other a little bit of fun, now and then. Well,” he corrected, “she’s the one who gets the most of it – she couldn’t fall pregnant by mistake, if you get what I mean. I, on the other hand...” he signed and lipped the glass, “You could see how it’d shorten my list of available candidates – but I have yet to become desperate enough to lay with other men. I do like a good ass, though,” he looked across the room at Ayrona, who, meanwhile, had become involved in a conversation with a rather dashing young man. “Looks like she appreciates some beauty in her life, too. Careful, or you’ll lose your chase to someone swifter than you.”

“State, you’re right,” Sykrain jumped onto his feet – “you can keep the glass,” he excused himself before crossing back to his table, smiling but sharp.

“My, my,” he reappeared there and looked at the male, “it’s always a compliment when such an elegant youth engages with my little velvet heart, here, but I have to warn that I’m the key to her door, if you see my meaning,” he implied the other would have to pass on him first, literally and sexually. “Or do you know each other?” he considered more softly.

One blue and one brown eye found Sykrain’s own grey eyes, and then the young man nodded and shook his head sweetly.

“We don’t usually know each other in this dress,” he answered with a hand on Ayrona’s shoulder. “I should warn you, if you plan on taking her as yours – she can be quite feisty. More so when dressed like this than otherwise – but I should be going,” he hurried to add and inched away a little as he got a bit of a glare at that. “I wish you all the joy with your project.”

“To another meeting, then,” Sykrain looked him go and retrieved his seat, sighing. “Natural or contact lenses?” he asked with curiosity, and treated himself a well-deserved praline, cheering to the old man.

“Far be it from me to deceive other’s potential disguises,” Ayrona answered cryptically and took the chair on the other end of the table again. “Do you want to continue with the game, or would you like to... go somewhere more private?”

He took the time to have another chocolate and drink a little, observing her with victorious smugness already.

“I still would love to meet your sauna,” he finally answered. “And when we are both dripping with scalding water, I want to entwine with you like snakes do, writhing close, in and around,” he painted for her.

They shared a last kiss before departing, as a last showdown for their kind sponsor:

Sultry, Ayrona tipped Sykrain’s head backwards, sitting on his lap again, but resting her lips against his neck – first the adams’ apple, then out towards the left side, tasting the scales up to the ear, where his perfume was the strongest. She moaned.

“You smell so good,” she wanted to fill her lungs to the fullest with that scent, and indulged for just a moment. Onlys once she’d freed herself from his delicious pheromones, she found his lips – tasting them, suckling them, nipping at them, not letting the kiss deepen just yet.

Sykrain relaxed with the lingering thought that the way his partner treated him wasn’t unalike the way he treated his dates when he was in for a bit more than just sex. It was flattering to get this attention and this restrained, teasing hunger. And it was good too, to play a different part. Not the greedy one, for once, but something softer and more patient, although still a bit feverish. The way Ayrona played with his lips was very much the kind of game that set fire to his insides.

He moaned too, and held her, caressing her back and her sides to distract his mind and keep sufficient control.

It took some breaks and hot breaths before Ayrona allowed the kiss to truly take form, flavours of chocolate and Kanar traveling back and forth. Well-practiced fingers found the most sensitive neckscales and tickled some more fire and light into the mixture. The embrace was so delightful that letting go nearly felt like a shame.

“You’d like more of that, huh?” she grinned at him in smug confidence.

He acted the slightly ashamed part, like a dominant set into submission and forced to admit to liking it: “To deny would be to lie,” he blushed a little more over his already rather flushed face. Then with more honesty: “I do. I very much would like more of that, and more yet if I can be granted it,” he told like a solemn promise that, having been bested and humbled, he would act as a brave and good boy.

“First...” Ayrona planted a kiss on her companion’s chufa, “I need to hear at least three times, that this is what you want.”

Sykrain smiled a grateful smile at that.

“Then take me to your palace, for I wish to pursue this moment with you there, hunt together the delights we yearn for and seize the grace. Count this as one, by word of Sykrain Lok,” he indulged her query a first time.

Playfully jabbing and jousting each other in good humor, they collected the chocolates box and paid their goodbyes to their sponsor on the way out.

“And you,” the elder grabbed the young man’s arm before he could disappear entirely, “have a good one, right? You deserve a break,” he told more seriously, giving Glain a look under the brow before letting him go.

The surprise sparked by those last words was enough for Glain to lose some composure, something soft and thankful coating his eyes with a wet shine. It might have been obvious to the elderly that the youth likely wished _someone else_ could say the same thing.

## * * *

Back in Luyeour’s building, Sykrain allowed more place for Glain, as he kept on wondering if all this was actually reasonable – and it certainly was easier to think lucidly about those things in a moment when lust wasn’t governing the mind.

He looked at his friend, at the dress, the  makeup, and the images overlaid with their scene at the club, and with the rising expectations. He thought of Emyr too. Of the evening at the aquarium with Leyour, and how much of a tease it had been for him then, to lay by Glain’s side and refrain from any sexual move.

Glain had sometimes played tease, but never without release, for that was just mean.

As they stood at the door, Sykrain smiled more sweetly at Ayrona.

“I still wish to pursue you and your delights,” he told preciously.

“Shall I count that as your second admission?” Ayrona asked as she unlocked the flat.

“Admit two, yes,” Sykrain smartly answered as they came in. “This is an invitation for the night, and how promising a night it is when it has already been so full of fulfilment,” he said dramatically and extended an arm to her shoulder. “Are you ready to hold your own promise?” he asked and flexed his limbs as a warning for the movement to come, then jumped with hope to be seized and carried – she’d jokingly offered to carry him home when they left the club, and he’d offered to let her take him to the room “where she’d wish to lay him as a hot shelter for her lustful yearnings”.

Having caught him, Ayrona stumbled a bit to the side, but managed to balance them up, a tingling laughter of surprise leaving her.

“I think you’ll find,” she told him with her lips close to his ear, “that I always keep my promises in the end.”

As gracefully as she could, she carried him over to the couch, where she placed him along with a kiss to his lips. “Now, now, whatever should I do to you, my sweet?”

“Make me…” he murmured, “make me… find myself again,” he asked with a hint of shy confusion.

Ayrona flickered away for a moment, and Luyeour found himself there in her stead, squatting down next to the couch with a look of concern.

“What does that mean?” he asked and stroked the other’s arm. “And I’d like an answer from Glain, moreso than from Sykrain.”

The mask diluted and Glain froze in a half smile, tense, eyes closed. He had to turn his face away a bit before he could open them again, avoiding the other’s scrutiny.

“Ah…” he seeked for words and silenced already. Then found his verb again and looked at Luyeour: “That… that means I… I presume it… it would maybe be better if real persons laid together for the first time,” he said tryingly, cheeks and neck heating up in shame.

Luyeour didn’t answer immediately, instead looking down at the bedding of the couch, pondering how close it had been that he’d made a terrible mistake. Then he smiled bleakly and straightened up, his knees making a twig-breaking sound as he did.

“I think so too,” he told calmly and bent down to start untying his boots, “and I think that it’s nothing to rush into, either. What about we spend the rest of the evening in the bath, washing ourselves off? And then, we can sleep – in the same bed, if you’re not opposed to cuddles – are you?” he asked, looking up at Glain with genuine question in his eyes.

There was shame lingering, visible even through the Conservator’s grey contacts, but he nodded.

“Cuddles are always good with me, but you should know I can produce ...rather quite some sounds,” he looked at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I should have anticipated this… and now, this lack of foresight must be rather unattractive…”

“Well, I mean, if we’re not going to have sex, it’s better that you’re not attractive,” Luyeour said without any malice, mostly because he was oblivious to how awkwardly he’d phrased himself – Glain made a bit of a face, but didn’t make any comment as he found that Luyeour’s awkward reply wasn’t as hurtful as could have been expected.

“Now,” the scientist spoke again, “let’s go wash off all that makeup – and whatever else is sticking to the skin that shouldn’t,” he added with a disgusted expression and tugged a bit on his underwear through the dress.

“Let’s go,” Glain echoed and let his host lead the way.

 

Removing the lenses was a comfort in itself, and once naked, Glain started to feel a bit less vulnerable even if his hair was still too orderly to feel like himself.

The bathroom gushed warm air against their hides as they entered. It was a rather unorthodox design, the kind of square-clean-90-degrees-angle trend that hadn’t yet charmed the general population. The materials, too, were unorthodox, with the standard orange metal being broken off by pitch black marble, which outlined a large indoors pool in the room’s middle, big enough to practice swimming in the milky white water.

As if that wasn’t enough, an equally-as-black tower ascended through the water surface, shaped like an elegant penis, the transparent white water oozing drowsily from its tip. Just below the ah, adornation, laid a platform, elevated from the pool’s bottom, but still underwater. It wasn’t entirely clear what it was for, unless one came close enough to feel around, because then, one would find a dildo attached to the base of the sculpture.

Luyeour made a gesture over the room, then started getting out of the dress, walking over to one of the wash basins instead, to clean the makeup from his face.

“It’s a bit disorderly, bear with me,” he muttered.

Glain had a really hard time repressing laughter, and resorted to clenching his jaws and diverting eyes from the… sculpture, instead focusing on washing himself until he ran out of anything to do, at which point he started laughing in a series of snorts that eventually broke into something less and less controlled until he had to hurry to the toilet corner with attempted apologies.

He did try to say a few other things but the sounds were too mangled to make any sense.

Only once his bladder was relieved could he speak more normally and successfully.

“I thought my longest-lasting lover had a very disorderly bathroom because of all the mirrors and transparent materials, but this is outright outrageous!” he still teared up a bit.

“Money can buy you anything,” Luyeour answered from where he’d taken a seat in one of the pool’s corners, dangling his feet in the water, watching the ripples with a darkened neck. It was more embarrasment than anything else at this point. “There’s a mist function as well, if you’re feeling particularly corny, though I guess, I mean, you’re probably not,” he shook his head and sunk into the water to hide himself more. “I’ve got to hire someone to restore it before I can move out – even with the money I got in the wake of the trial, the rent here is quite too much for one person. Culat is an expensive city to live in, when you aren’t funded by family or vesala.”

“Hm, hm,” Glain nodded thoughtfully, approaching to join his host in the water. “Maybe you should get a friend to live with you,” he suggested.

“Oh, you know how that goes,” Luyeour waved his hand dismissively and leaned his head back with a sigh, “all my friends here already have their own places, and when they start getting our age, they’ve got family too. Living with a friend is considered obnoxious,” he made a grimace. “I don’t know what to do, maybe I should move away, make a fresh start where it’s cheaper to live – I’m pretty sure there are some colonized worlds out there that could use my expertise, and at least, I’ll have good recommendations. Not that my parents would be happy to see me leave Prime, but...”

“I wouldn’t be happy either if you left like that,” Glain made a face, “and there are many decent cities and towns to live in, here on Prime’s good districts,” he argued. Then turned side-wise to look at him better and caress his jaw as he made his insinuations into something more blatant:

“Oh, Leyour… Why don’t you ask _me_ to come live here with you? It’s close to the train station, I could come here part-time...or even look up the positions available at the Ministry here,” he mused more seriously and moved to sit on Luyeour’s lap, straddling him. “ _I_ need a fresh start, not you. I hadn’t realised, but I… I feel really good being here with you, in this city, well away from Lakat, my father, the heart-tormenting presence of the luzzur who chose his shamar over me…” he made a pained expression but smiled, silencing a little to observe Luyeour, then kissed his cheek, most gently.

“What do you think?” he murmured, “If I come work here, I have right to be assigned residence in Risarta or Ouankera, which aren’t bad sectors, I believe?” he mentioned the administrative and diplomatic sectors of the city. “Of course,” he considered, “you don’t know me that much yet…” he showed understanding with a way out.

The familiarity of the proposition caused Luyeour to avoid the other’s eyes for a moment. Relying on someone – again – for his upkeep felt like a step in the wrong direction, but at the same time, it was a kind and generous offer.

“I suppose we could visit the local Ministry of Justice tomorrow to see if there are any openings – I’m sure there are,” he added with a hasty look to Glain, “but... are you sure you wouldn’t be bothered by it? Living with me, I mean. Like, if the public were to learn that we lived together, wouldn’t that seem weird?”

“Being new to this place, I could use the help of a guide, and those available positions most certainly require an assistant with knowledge of scientific jargon,” Glain explained. “That is why dwellings reserved for higher ranking ministers of the court always come in with at least one dependence to host an assistant or secretary and a housekeeper. Which would you rather be?” he couldn’t help but ask more kinkily.

“B-but what about my job?” Luyeour stuttered with some desperation, “I like doing what I studied for, I’m – I mean, if you need help I can help you too, but I wouldn’t want that to be the only thing I’d do...”

Glain giggled and kissed his lips.

“I don’t know, truly,” he admitted. “I know I would hate to rob you of what you love doing, and I ignore the exact amount of help I would need. But I believe we could live together, here or there, and afford time to work out the details or further housing solutions for you,” he smiled sweetly.

“That sounds... like a good plan,” Luyeour concluded, a bit uneasy with the kisses, now that they’d decided not to have sex. “Um, there is – I believe, at least – likely not a lot of housing vacancies, so there might be a bit of a wait. Because a lot of people live in areas they don’t necessarily need to live in, like, me for example: I’m not exactly qualified work-wise to live here, but I still do, because of Emyr – it’s pretty common.”

“Same in Lakat,” Glain nodded knowingly, “but that means it’ll be very little suspicious of me to live with a man, moreover one whose reputation and career I helped restore. People will be free to think you repay me with a housing favor.”

Luyeour contemplated this with a slight frown, then seemed to reach a conclusion, nodding slightly.

“I suppose I do owe you,” he said slowly, diverting his eyes, “and I _am_ grateful. I would be happy to help you out any way I can – including housing. And maybe other things, later,” he slipped in a bit daringly.

“While I appreciate all you wish to share with me, I want you to know that in my eyes, you owe me nothing,” Glain thought to reassure him, gently stroking his cheek with a knuckle. “I prefer to be with you as friend and equal as much as possible. You’re a sweet young man,” he stole a kiss from his cheek and slowly dived backwards in the water to wet his hair and let it retrieve its curliness.

“And equals we’ll be, once I repay your kindness,” Luyeour answered at that, watching Glain gliding through the liquid mirror. “Enjoying the water?” he asked and slipped down a bit deeper himself. “It’s enriched – the white color you see, it comes from minerals. Supposedly it’s good for your scales and skin – Emyr’s brother is working to get it into the market. It’s not yet taken off, but I think the higher classes will certainly dip their toes in it, if given the opportunity.”

“It’s all a matter of marketing, I guess,” Glain grinned. “It’s pleasant enough, at least.”

He laid onto his back a moment, floating, then rolled over and sank, propelling himself with his hands and full-body undulation to explore the bathing tank a bit, cycling around the disorderly black tower near the opposite edge, before returning to Luyeour, catching his legs, then his hips as he resurfaced.

“I saw something beautiful under there; had to catch it,” he explained cheekily.

A slightly awkward silence settled as he looked at the man, with eyes full of a desire to simply follow the flow and kiss him, touch him, devour him sexually.

“You’re… really very handsome,” he almost excused himself, vastly toning down what he truly wished to say. “You’re very cute, and it would feel so right to surrender to your arms and your charms… I do want you, but I… I don’t want to hurt you,” he thinned his lips as he pressed them together.

“Good, because I don’t want to hurt you, either,” Luyeour wearily answered and laid his hands on Glain’s.

There, he stood for a moment before moving them, palms exploring the other’s arms, up to the elbows, then the neck and the sweet scales lingering there. It was innocent and sensual while at the same time really rather erotic, and so to hide himself, he looked at his hands.

“I’d rather we don’t do anything, because come tomorrow, I don’t want you to wake up feeling as though you’ve broken your promises – or laid with someone you didn’t yet know well enough.”

“I think… it’s not so much about you as it is… about me,” Glain said a bit shamefully, a very sweet expression on his face as he tried not to give into the touch completely, forcing himself into a more childish composure to forget a little about the very adult feelings in his neck – if anything, that restrain probably made things even more erotic.

“You’re already perfect, Leyour…” he whimpered. “I have so many wounds and although abstinence has helped me retrieve some… some level of lucidity… I think I need to relax. Relax in gentle comfort so I don’t deny to myself what I am, which is part of who I am. I’m a sexual person, a sexual person who likes men, men like you, who are kind and elegant,” he lengthened his neck and let his eyelids flicker in abandon a little. “And I like that you are careful, delicate and attentionate,” he gasped softly and looked at him and blushed like a youth embarrassed by his crotch for the first time.

Luyeour snorted a bit and shook his head with a smile.

“Enough with the flattery, it’s too cheap,” he advised the other, “and desperate, too. Which I know you are not,” he added and relaxed backwards against the edge of the pool. “If you feel clean, we should go dry ourselves and head to bed. We’ve got enough to do tomorrow to save us some of today.”

“I’m sorry,” Glain nodded sheepishly.

He moved out of the water, caring to hide his arousal and tried to discreetly tame it back to its sheath before heading for a towel. He did feel a bit shy and insecure, and had to admit that, indeed, he was still prone to seeking reassurance in sex. Maybe staying abstinant was for the best, but would that ever end? Would he ever grow confident without that ever again? ... _Had_ he ever been confident before finding his sexuality?

Not that he remembered…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	44. V - Morning news

##  Morning news

Luyeour and Glain spent a restful night in Luyeour’s bedroom upstairs, overlooking the rest of the flat and the city below. Falling asleep to rain pattering against the glass window made for calm dreams, and once sunrise rolled around, it did very little to wake the young men, as it rose on the other side of the building. It was well past the orderly hours when wakenness finally came, called upon by the door chime.

Trying not to disturb Glain too much, Luyeour slipped into a morning gown and hurried down the spiral staircase to open the door, behind which he found a friendly face. He cared to ask Glain, who had woken up anyway, if he was in the mood for a visitor, and the young Conservator let curiosity set the course.

It took a while longer yet for Glain to come downstairs, wearing a green shirt he’d borrowed from Luyeour’s closet, and combing his hair again.

“Aha,” he nodded at the visitor, who turned out to be handsome young man from the club. Glain himself was obviously more amused than anything. “Good morning,” he greeted him politely as he went to sit by the table. “Are you going to introduce us to each other?” he asked Luyeour with a cheeky smile.

“Yes, of course, this is – this is Glain Rokat,” he gesticulated to Glain, “Glain, this is Esmil Lekat.”

Esmil, whose eyes were still one dark, one bright, looked at Glain with renewed interest and nodded.

“Yes, I did see the trial,” he opted and went over to look more closely at the Conservator. “Magnificent,” he commented and grinned in amusement, “and, I daresay, rather disorderly – to find you here, in His Ador’s home, clad in his clothes,” he sipped his tea. “I hear you work in justice,” he proceeded with humour, “So do I, albeit in a somewhat smaller way. I’m a secretary,” he explained and shook his head to himself: “To Ladral. Both of them,” he specified, as one of the Ladrals was an Archon, and her husband, who also worked the field, was a Conservator. “They’re very pleasant people indeed.”

“I believe I’ve met them once or twice,” Glain nodded with a little smile. “When my grandfather retired, and… when he died,” he shrugged discreetly. “He probably didn’t really deserve all that ceremonial, but then again, any occasion to have fun is a good occasion, and I think that’s what brought most everybody together, aside from networking,” he rested an elbow on the table and his chin on his wrist, lazily observing the two men. “At least, I dare hope that my disorderliness is much more enjoyable than Melekor’s,” he jested a bit provocatively. “But enough about that,” he picked a bun of egg-bread from the basket on the table, and brightened up, “How fascinating is that, that you come visit us, Your Lekat, just when I am considering to look up the available positions in Justice, here in Culat?”

Esmil could barely contain himself, and wringed his hands together in excitement, mostly so he wouldn’t end up slapping his arms like he usually would.

“Really? That’s fascinating indeed! And welcome, too,” he added with a meaningful look to Luyeour: “This is your doing, is it not? I’ve been complaining his ears off for months,” he lamented to Glain again. “I’m just a secretary, and already  _ my _ plate is way too full – I cannot imagine how it must be on a greater scale, considering that the Ladrals only work part-time...  _ well _ ,” he wringed his hands some more, “we need people in all positions, but it is true that it’s the most difficult to find Archons. I could ask Her Ladral if she’s willing to take on an apprentice, I am sure she would welcome the help just as much as she’d be bothered by the extra effort it is to teach someone. Oh! But, Your Rokat, you should know that it is immensely difficult to find a flat these days. Scientists. Scientists everywhere. Doctors and Scientists in almost every sector; it’s a bit disorderly, but kind of charming – it makes almost a different society. Ah, still Cardassian of course, but regional.”

“Well, it’s Culat, not Lakarian, so…” Glain showed mercy for the city’s denizens, then laughed – “Sorry, habit of Conservation already,” he jested. “I don’t worry much about housing; there are always arrangements to be found, and they can be a mutual benefit,” he smiled at Luyeour. “But you think Ladral would be up to apprenticing me?” he returned to his topic of interest. “I barely had any occasion to speak with her at the funeral, although I had a rather pleasant conversation with her husband ...might even have been a bit disorderly,” he winced. “I don’t remember how much I’d been drinking already,” his eyes rounded a bit at the memory. “And at my grandfather’s retirement, I got stuck in a forced conversation with the old Lokar and Dukat, and that, if anything, was a great repellent for anyone else to want to talk to me afterwards,” he complained.

For one who was hated by most of the military, Melekor Rokat had managed to attract the liking of a few ...rather slimy families, and Glain had a strong distaste for all of that, but he knew better than to voice such sentiments.

“Well, she’d want favours in return, no doubt about that,” Esmil held his hands up in a disclaimer, “but if you’re eager to learn and bright enough to do it well, I can’t see why she wouldn’t have you. Though, I think, perhaps you shouldn’t be disorderly with her husband again. Her revenge against people tends to be quick and irreversible,” he shuddered a bit then grinned: “But so, you’ve gotten entangled with Lokar and Dukat? That must’ve been borderline disorderly, too – your grandfather sure had a complicated vesala. I have to wonder how he maintained it – if you don’t forgive me saying – but I think that one was a bit reckless, wasn’t he? Or maybe I have him confused with some other Rokat. There’s been so many – a shame that there’s well... only you left in the justice department. Not that I’d judge your family for that, but I must say that I think it was unwise for your grandfather not to put all his children through the same school. You never know what will happen to all your children once they grow up – personally, I plan on having many children. They’re cute, and then after, they’re useful and you get to feel proud of them – though, then again, I’d have to find a wife, and it’s a bit difficult to find a woman who is both free  _ and _ into disorderly things.”

In the background, Luyeour had made his way to the other end of the room to see if he could find something more interesting there – which really, he couldn’t.

“Wives aren’t easy to come by,” Glain agree, not bothering to feel bitter about Iltarel and Dayar once more. “I want children too, and I personally do  _ not  _ intend on producing them like fodder to be sacrificed for my own survival,” he winced. “Had my grandfather been less of an awful person, there sure would be more of us Rokats, and probably more in the Ministry than in the military and the grave.”

He darkened a bit for a second, gaze phasing out a bit, but then he focused back on Esmil and brightened up again.

“Well, at any rate, it’s good that I’m mostly a kind and gentle fellow who seeks for appeasement rather than conflict. Unless it comes to guls who think they can sully my name without paying for their crime,” he sighed. “Does Ladral have any specialization these days? I really do need to procure myself with some cases so I can assess a bit what I’d be getting myself into…”

“Ha! We don’t specialize in this place: we don’t have the available staff for that anymore – the only ones who specialize in anything, are those who opt to take only easy cases. You know, the casual ones with people sleeping outdoors and stuff like that. Otherwise, you get what’s delegated to you, and you may only refuse a maximum of ten percent of the cases presented to you, so you have to be careful when you pick, because you never know if what you’d get instead wouldn’t be worse, and then you’ve ran out of refusals...”

“If that’s not a challenge…” Glain nodded slowly with a bite of spongy bread, amused and horrified at the same time. “Oh, well, what’s got to be done got to be done,” he reckoned and searched for their host with his gaze.

“Leyour? Is the topic boring you?” he worried.

”Yes, but I don’t mind,” the medical secretary honestly answered with a flutter of eyelashes: “it’s an important topic and it’s good that you’re having the conversation, so, you know, do continue,” he smiled sweetly in way to approve, and retreated to the couch, where he sat, one leg flung over the other, looking at the other two rather shamelessly.

“I think the topic was getting to the end,” Esmil deflected with darkening neckscales, “but if I had to pick it up again, I’d say that I’d be willing to set up a meeting between you and her, and then ah, let social conventions do the rest, so to speak,” he told Glain.

“And that would be most appreciated,” the Conservator hummed in polite approval. “But now, now…,” he relaxed in the back of his chair, “how about you two tell me how you came to meet and how… close friends you are?” he asked with fake innocence. A perfectly civil way to ask if they’d had it going.

“Just friends,” Esmil defined and leaned back against the wall next to the replicator, “but I think perhaps…” he glanced at Luyeour and smirked a bit, looking back at Glain, “how new are you to all this? I mean, the way you were going last time I saw you, you seem to have the hang of it, but – the places, the people, the games we play and the packs we hunt in, have you been part of this for a while, or is it more recent?”

“More recent,” Luyeour answered in Glain's stead. Esmil nodded.

“Then, you’ve been a lone vole for a long time, I gather?” he concluded and tipped his head forward to scrutinize the other. “Tell me, are you part of those who prefer traditional Cardassian constellations, or are you more fond of sharing and experiencing?”

“The latter,” Glain smiled and he felt like a child again, excited and hungry for men and sex. “Love is too much of a prison and I’m a bird yearning to fly.”

“Well then, imagine that lifestyle, but between friends who all know that one-another are safe,” Esmil waved a hand thoughtfully, then let it settle under his chin. “As for how we met, I’m pretty sure Emyr introduced us.”

“He did. I think, at one of his parties – free Kanar for everyone,” Luyeour rolled his eyes. “We were both in drag, and you were wearing that silvery wig of yours, and those green contacts. And there was golden confetti in the air – I think they were playing that soft song in the background, you know-”

“ _ Sugar and Salt? _ ” Esmil guessed with a squint, “Oh, yeah, that’s the one – anyway, that’s how we met. I had neck-sex with Emyr in a closet after he got drunk – and I believe you opened it, and closed it so hard that you nearly crushed my hand. But I’ve forgiven that by now, I don’t hold grudges.”

Glain couldn’t help but grin at that, dreaming himself away a bit. It was hard not to heat up already.

“Life is too short for grudges,” he approved, only distantly wondering if he sounded desperate already. “Does sound like you had fun parties… I’ve helped organize some, but it was afterwork ones…” he sighed.

He could very well feel that his body had been much ready for the sex that hadn’t happened the previous night, and was now craving all the more. For every glance and look at the two appealing males, his mind was swift to build up fantasies. His neck was darkening, his scent was getting stronger and his eyes shone brighter. It was getting to be obvious that need was overtaking him.

“I met Luyeour when my cousin Nardine introduced us,” he told. “That was also when I met Emyr and… he had the brilliant idea to confess his crime in public, in front of me…” he narrated mostly for Esmil, and included the story of how Emyr kissed him while in detention. “It wasn’t welcome on the moment, but thinking back about it, a real convict and an actual Conservator…” he wet his lips, then looked at Luyeour, “Oh, well. He didn’t kiss me nearly as good as Ayrona did Sykrain…”

Esmil blew some air through his nose.

“He always was a calculating opportunist,” he observed as he watched the torment Glain was under, somewhat untouched by it, “though I never really took him for one who’d go for those already in power. Rather, he had a good eye for spotting talent, and bringing those talents to their rightful place in society – namely, his bed,” he snickered and went to set his glass back in the replicator, eyeing at Luyeour. “You were different though. I don’t think he’s ever held onto a trophy wife for as long as he did with you. I mean, the fact that he got you a fake ID and persona alone says something about his plans. I think that he considered that damaging your vesala was a reasonable short term cost, because I believe his plan was to enjoin you, and then what would your vesala matter? You’d have his,” he made a sweeping hand gesture and leaned to Glain, “and his vesala is large and tight, considering he built most of us out of the dirt of Cardassia. There are many people here and in Lakat who owe him their career, and that’s a debt hard to forget. See,” he went to sit in the sofa, then gestured to the spot between himself and Luyeour to invite Glain to sit there, “even as his little adventures and exclusive romances always ended, he never discarded people, he’d keep on networking for them, finding them places to live, fucking them the way they liked it…” he kicked back and crossed one leg over his other. “I think he was so used to the concept that none must be discarded, that he didn’t for a second imagine that His Heart-Breaker here would discard him over something as petty as a little material exchange,” he winked at Luyeour, who didn’t wink back.

“It’s not funny,” he looked down at the edge of the table.

“No, indeed it is not. As for you, Your Conservator,” he swapped focus to Glain, “I suppose you only did your duty, but have you considered that now that his money has gone to his family, it’ll likely be invested in goods, not people – if riches had stayed with Emyr, more talented, sexy young men had ended up in positions where they’d meet their potential... a pity, and awfully materialistic, don’t you think?”

“He wasn’t the only sponsor around,” Glain unfolded himself and went to take his place in the sofa, trying to keep a cool head, “and he should have shut up when I sent the first warning. I’ve hunted in Barvonok well enough to know when those men become too arrogant to stay safe, and safety matters more than money on the long run. What he did to Leyour was wrong,  _ especially _ if he was planning to try enjoining him – what a way to treat a spouse, really?” he raised his nose in dislike, then softened his eyes to look at his friend, setting a gentle hand on his lap.

“I’d know of arrogance and betrayal… I betrayed the one I think of as my shamar, although I was only trying to help, foolishly so… and that is why I can never have him. Luzzurs and friends is where it’s at for me,” he held Luyeour’s hand to his lips and kissed it, wishing he could kiss his lips instead and let things degenerate into a threesome. It’d been long since the last time he’d had that.

Luyeour smiled bleakly and shook his head at that.

“Luzzurs and friends sound like a good idea,” he agreed, rubbing Glain’s fingers a little with his own.

“When you two traitors are done cooing over each other, I think it’s about time we get going. I have the day off, but I’m pretty sure Luyeour is supposed to be at work in a couple of hours,” Esmil pointed and wiggled his toes, “which leaves us with just enough time to betray our desires before we go, if such should be of interest.”

Glain grinned at Esmil about too fast, then turned to Luyeour again.

“I want it, Leyour, I want it, I’m ready and I…  _ want it _ ,” he assured three times, leaning toward his lips. “It’s a new day, and I want to get laid this day, this moment, with the two of you, if you’ll have us,” he ended up in a kissing murmur, tickling his neck oh, so lightly and teasingly.

Luyeour shuffled a bit uncomfortably to the side, all while Esmil’s lips broadened into a grin.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he complained a bit meekly, looking at Esmil for help, but there wasn’t much of a lifeline thrown for him there. “Rather, wouldn’t it be nicer if we all get to know each other a bit better first?” – the comment yielded a grimace from his friend.

“Why, you’re not normally such a bore; are you feeling sick, or something?” he asked teasingly, but Luyeour didn’t see the humour in it.

“Maybe I am, or maybe you are, or maybe he is,” he indicated Glain with his head, “At any rate, I’m not in the mood. I can’t forbid either of you to have some fun, of course, but if you want such things, don’t do it in my flat.”

“Wow,” Esmil eyed at Glain with shocked surprise, “what did you do, throw up in his most expensive shoes or something?”

Glain grimaced at the notion, and tried to just relax back in the sofa, getting just a bit closer to Esmil in doing so – purely incidental.

“My uncle put me on an abstinent regime and I still endured that diet when I met Leyour,” he explained, expanding a bit on how he’d held the line until he came to Culat. “It was fun yesterday, yes, but I figured it was too early to have sex while pretending to be someone else and ...we ended up having none,” he let a bit of regret shine through. “Don’t fault him for caring; I appreciate the sentiment,” he specified to Luyeour in particular, “but it’s getting to be painful to see all those around me having a good time in life while I have to just sit in backstage. Truth be told, the only things that have driven me forth in life are the choices I’ve made myself, and that’s why I’ve come here. It might just be the distance I need to redefine my purpose for Cardassia and…” he squeezed Luyeour’s hand a bit, looking at him fondly and pressing himself a little more yet against Esmil, “...I’d like to look at Leyour’s stats about our people, see if I can contribute to that work in any way, because that’s a cause that matters deeply to me.”

Esmil let out a long hum, then got up and walked over to the replicator.

“One of my long lost loves,” he winked to Luyeour, “ once taught me that the fastest and most efficient way to get rid of unwanted, distractive desire, is-” he listed a series of ingredients, some of them alien, some of them normal, and summoned forth a little cup with a simmering blue liquid, “-to drink this,” he finished the sentence and went back to the couch, reaching the cup towards Glain. “It doesn’t even taste bad – go ahead, have a sip.”

Glain looked at the cup, took it and looked at it some more. He didn’t feel like getting rid of his desire at all, or at least not in such a way.

“What changed your mind?” he asked the turncoat, rather, “And how… long does that last? A few hours or…?” he still held the hope that, if Leyour was going to play it cold, Esmil might still be up to having it hot later.

“Depends on quantity, but a couple of hours, usually, for a full glass,” Esmil specified with a nod: “Very useful for when you’re at work and the invasive thoughts come for you – I do carry a weak spot for His Ladral, after all.” A chuckle later, and he was back in the couch, by Luyeour’s side this time: “And, see, as for me changing mind, it’s my personal belief that he who falls the prey gets the first bite. If Luyeour holds patience for you, then I shall hold patience for him – it is only fair.”

“The way I see it…” Glain took a nearly defiant sip of the blue stuff, “ _ I _ am the hunter and he the prey. He’d about given up to Emyr’s bold competition, to the point  _ I _ had to be the one hunting him. It was a most endearing chase, though, and it’s been more rewarding than he knows yet,” he smiled at his host. “I hope you forgive my current state of being; I understand it must be a bit confusing, and I’m afraid I’m not very representative,” he sighed and dipped his lips in the blue some more, passing his free hand in Luyeour’s hair, at the back of the neck, to massage him where it was relaxing and pleasant.

While Luyeour was melting, Esmil moved to sitting sidewise, elbow against the backrest and his chin against his hand.

“But, let me see if I got this right – you think that you’re chasing him? While you’re now in his lair, abandoned to his care? And presented to me too... and here I am. And there’s no way for you to tell whether I’m starved for a meal or just a little peckish for a taste of that saltysweet sentimentality of yours.”

Glain sparkled in laughter at that and glanced at Esmil with fair amusement, green eyes grinning as he discarded the mostly-full glass to reach a hand to the other’s chin.

“Why don’t you rather ask me to tend to you too, hm? I have two hands, and all this will stay most civil. And maybe, if you feel kind, you might want to soothe your dear friend, who wasn’t given release yesternight. I wouldn’t mind keeping my business to cuddles meanwhile – it’s not like I would get off of it now, would I? But sweetness such as Luyeour’s beckons more sweetness, and as you pointed, I’m a bit salty,” he argued with malice.

“Making it difficult for him, are you?” Esmil asked back with amusement, nodding to Luyeour, who was avoiding any and all eye-contact, “Not that he’s entirely unused to it... but you’d like to remain in the middle? Want all and none at the same time?”

“Tahkmar, all and none at the same time seems to be what life has given me all along,” Glain marveled. “How apt of you,” he showed a bit of tooth. “Seems like a fitting position for me to remain in a bit longer, I guess. But what of you, Leyour?” he got closer, laying his second hand on his chest, and then on his cheek to turn his face a bit, “What do you wish for? Please, let the silence away and give us more of your thoughts,” he implored.

While Glain’s attention were on Luyeour, Esmil leaned close enough to breathe just where it felt nice, between the third and second scale near the ear.

“He’s got such a big mouth for being so silent, that Luyeour,” he purred meaningfully, which finally stirred a reaction from his friend.

“I- I...” he gulped and looked back and forth between the other two, then crossed his legs and bit his lower lip: “Your Rokat,” he protested weakly, but had already found his way to the lips of the very same, nearly kissing him – the temptation was just too strong to withstand.

Glain smiled as he savored the kiss, finding that even if the drug was diluting his bodily arousal, it didn’t do much to deter mental arousal – the effect was mostly physical, and provided the young man with a rather interesting experience, in a way.

His hand went down Luyeour’s chest, caressing, and down again, where the legs crossed tight.

“Esmil…” Glain broke the kiss to address him, “poor Leyour feels too hot there; I think he might need to be helped out of his underwear a bit…” he suggested and dove for the neck before a protest could be uttered already, mouth treating a side, fingers treating the other side.

There was a muffled whimper, and Esmil couldn’t help but to watch the scene with appreciation.

“I think you’ll have to guide my hand,” he murmured, “I didn’t see where you meant...”

“Feel the heat, hm?” Glain asked playfully as he passed Esmil’s hand over their host’s feverish crotch, “What should we do about it? A bit of air is always good, and if there’s any concerning swelling, kisses are good remedies, or so I was taught,” he suggested and licked Luyeour’s scales even more suggestively.

“Are- are you really sure we should be doing this?” Luyeour squirmed a bit against the touches, trying to avoid everything that was pulling him in. Esmil gave him very little time to think, as he knew exactly how to touch him right.

“Why shouldn’t we be doing this? It’s not even cheating, this time,” he teased with both voice and touch, “Has he told you that, Your Rokat? All the times we played games behind the backs of others – it was only to be expected, honestly – we’ve both been treasures difficult to guard, haven’t we?”

“I’ve heard of such games, yes,” Glain grinned, inhaling the perfume of arousal coming from behind the ear, “and I can understand the difficulty to guard either of you when you’re both so attractive… and really, isn’t the world for us to seize every time we can?” his wandering hand went under Luyeour’s shirt, and the one that was teasing the neck fished the man’s hand, setting it on his own groin. “See, my dear Leyour, I am stealing no sexual pleasure from this…” he let him feel the absence of erection, “I only want to see  _ you _ getting what you desire,” he kissed him more softly. “I promise, I promise it’s alright, sweet Leyour… At least for me,” he conceded. “How is it for you?” he cared to ask as he didn’t want to end up raping the other somehow.

Luyeour considered the question some more, then shook his head and moved away a little.

“I really don’t know,” he said with hoarse honesty. That Glain wasn’t aroused didn’t make it better for him, it was rather the opposite. “I don’t know,” he added and swatted at Esmil’s hand, which was removed reluctantly.

“Okay, that’s alright,” the other said softly and straightened up, “we could do something else. Maybe you’d like a glass, too?” he offered kindly, but got no reply.

Glain offered his own glass and wrapped his arms around Luyeour as more of a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered although he forced a disconnection between himself and his emotions, because he didn’t want to feel anything he was about to feel. “It’s okay, we’re not doing anything you don’t want,” he nuzzled his cheek, then took a little more distance. “Do you want some space? Or closeness? That of a blanket, maybe? Or his closeness?” he eyed at Esmil, ready to be discarded once more, since that was getting to be a habit of sorts, really.

This was bad. This was all really bad and Glain knew how this kind of untidy moment, if left to fester, could damage a relation deep and long. He wasn’t sure what to say and fell silent too, contemplating what he’d done but without managing to see the painful picture of hurt, wrong and shame.

“Do you need something more?” Esmil repeated in way to repeat Glain’s concerns, but he only got a headshake in return, then a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be fine,” came the muffled muttering, followed by a forced smile. “It’s ah... if you could show His Rokat the local Ministry of Justice hall today, then I think he’d be grateful, and um, I should probably drink this, and have a shower and get dressed – the three of us, maybe we could have dinner together tonight? Replicated dinner,” he specified, “just to be ordinary.”

“If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do,” Glain agreed, although he wasn’t entirely sure about visiting the Ministry while in such an internal turmoil. He both wanted to get away and to stay, which was a rather unpleasant feeling weaving a chaotic fabric of anxiety.

He looked at Esmil again, as to ask him what he thought about it, and wished to himself that the other might be up to cheating his own tradition, and take him to a place where release could finally be had, like death for just a moment.

Luyeour nodded and sipped some of the blue liquid, then leaned against Glain with a sigh. He couldn’t help but to feel like the biggest idiot, who should’ve said no earlier – or better yet, not allowed the situation to start at all.

“Very good,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll... I’ll go get clean, then,” he gave Glain’s shoulder a pat as he got up, along with a reassuring smile – or at least, he hoped it was reassuring – then disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Esmil to take care of things.

“Are you alright, then?” was his question as he finally snapped his eyes away from the doors his luzzur had disappeared through, “You seem a bit shaken? Do  _ you _ need a blanket or a hug?”

Although a part of him felt like simply breaking down, Glain’s survival instinct guarded him from doing so.

“You’re very perceptive,” he commanded himself to smile instead, “That’s both very attractive and somewhat dangerous sometimes… A man like me isn’t allowed to break, you know that, although you certainly know we need breaks too,” he tightened his lips. “I’m not sure what it is I need… I hadn’t exactly planned for such a situation to arise, and I lack the familiarity with all things here to set an adequate course just now,” he excused himself, talking too much, probably. It was a necessary distraction to keep on ignoring the messy flow of emotions in the background.

Esmil nodded and straightened up, ordered the replicator to get him a blanket and a glass of cold water, which he handed to Glain before sitting next to him.

“If there’s anything my time in the justice department has taught me, then it is that Nestors, Conservators, Interrogators, Investigators, Archons... are all people, too,” he rubbed Glain’s arm in way to encourage him, “and I’ve comforted a great deal of them –  _ no _ , not like that, you perv,” he added the last part because he knew how it’d come out sounding. “Is there anyone you’d like to call on subspace? Any close friends, lovers, luzzurs...?”

Glain shook his head negatively, as his mind instantly went to Iltarel when the word ‘luzzur’ was pronounced.

“He needs to be on his own, with his shamar…” he muttered.

He thought of Demeny, whom he framed as the cause of all this with his cursed advice, and winced. Then, somehow, someone else crossed his mind. Someone he could always talk to went it came to those things.

“Keelani,” he hiccuped. “I don’t think I should bother her with this…” he made a pathetic face.

Esmil smiled with a sigh and shook his head.

“The com-panel is upstairs, next to the bed – I’m sure Luyeour has a lifetime supply of hours to use for a call,” he patted Glain on the shoulder and shot a look toward the bathroom door. It was a little strange that the other hadn’t reappeared yet. “I’m going to let you have your privacy, and check on my own luzzur meanwhile, unless you’d prefer I didn’t go...?”

“I’ll be fine, more so knowing you take care of him,” Glain resolved and got up, wrapping himself more comfortably in the blanket. “Thank you,” he still afforded to kiss the other quickly on the corner of the lips.

Once upstairs, he took a minute to arrange his looks a little and brace himself for the call. He still didn’t look in great shape, but with a chosen camera angle, he could appear decent enough.

He started the call and waited for it to be picked, smiling a little, sweet and sheepish.

Someone who looked all the more decent, was Keelani when she processed the call. Sat on her bed in her little bedroom, wearing one of her more elaborate, blue-red dresses, the former housekeeper was positively arraying neatness.

“Ah! Glain!” she burst in approval as she shoved a pile of things that definitely looked like weapon parts, “Just the person I needed to talk to – very good indeed. I knew Enjam wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself, he’s such a gossip, isn’t he?”

“A what?” Glain blinked, a bit disturbed. “Enjam? Did he come over?” he blinked further, looking at the odd stock of laser designators. “He brought those…? He talked with Nall?” he winced in added confusion, not really minding that he’d called his father by his first name rather than ‘father’ as he used to. “What’s happened? Is the family getting back together?”

“Oh,” Keelani paused a bit, then picked one of the lasers and started polishing it with a cloth, “then you don’t know, hm,” she cleared her throat and looked closer at the other: “Why did you call, if you don’t know? You’re not in trouble, are you? You look a bit awful.”

Glain gave her a pained and tired expression.

“I… I guess it’s not much…” he sighed and looked away, shoulders dropping. “I just…” He groaned and slapped his hand over his eyes: “I can’t tell you that now, not when you’re… Uh,” he shook his head and looked at her again, weary. “Tell me first what’s going on on your side, then I’ll see if I can… go on,” he bargained awkwardly, with a look not entirely unlike the expressions he’d wore in his dangerous depressed teen days.

Keelani sighed and gave him a sad look. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t feel like talking about whatever ailed him after she’d tell him her news – if he was happy about it, he wouldn’t want to be a downer, and if he’d feel threatened by it, he wouldn’t confide in her.

“You’re such a sweetscale, and you  _ are  _ the one who called, so I think it’s only fair that you start,” she bargained back and exchanged her laser pointer for a different one. “Besides, I haven’t heard from you for such a long time, I think you owe it to me to tell me what you’ve been up to. Any disorderliness to confess?”

He whined at that.

“I… I cracked,” he huddled together and nearly cried. “I wanted to have sex, Keelani,” he said pathetically instead, narrating briefly his visit to ‘a friend’ and the disorderly night with fake identities, his change of heart and the reason for it – that he wanted to feel like himself instead of that sexual escapism he used to delve in – and how he’d ended up hurting his partner’s feelings instead. “All I can think of now is how I’ve become an awful person ...and how I really just want to fuck with the first man who’ll have me,” he concluded in a low voice, to avoid any eavesdropping. “I want to belong… if only for one moment… I’m so alone, Keelani, I’m alone and it’s so dark inside- I don’t want to be with myself,” he showed her wet green eyes. “It’s terrifying and I’m trying so hard not to sin again,” he held his wrist and rubbed the line where a scar used to be.

Keelani, who had often seen Glain as her own child, and would’ve usually found herself full of concern for his well-being, now found herself filled with a different kind of concern. That she loved Glain Rokat like family wasn’t made untrue by the fact that she already loved the child in her womb even more – and would do anything to protect it. Glain’s continued delvings into disorderliness didn’t awake the amusement it so often had in the past, and the last part woke something more cold.

“Maybe,” she tried carefully, threading the thin line between the emotions that had taken her by surprise, and the care that she knew she had for Glain, “you should-” there was a sound of a closing door in the background and a distant voice – Nall’s voice – announcing a return.

“It’s done,” said the voice as it came closer, and the doors to Keelani’s room opened, casting light on her, along with the silhouette of a man, “I’ve cancelled Tilayan’s studies signed the papers, and dropped them off at Enjam’s, and I even got you two of these,” he held something up, and Keelani’s face brightened up, as she bounced from the bed, carrying two more targeting lasers as she sat back down, eyeing at them with glee.

“Who are you talking to?” the voice continued and Nall stepped into view, immediately becoming a bit more tight-faced as he discovered Glain on the other end, “Ah, Glain, it is good you answered the call. We need to make arrangements, as you might understand. How much have you been told?”

Glain stared at his father, another expression on his face entirely – closed, formal, although not trying to be proper since that could hardly be achieved while covered with a blanket. But any trace of sadness was gone, replaced by a void of cold.

“Nothing, I only just woke up,” he made up. “What’s so important?” he asked, not letting through much more, although he now looked at the laser pointers with suspicion. It was quite an amount of them, and not exactly the kind of thing his father would usually favor as romantic gifts.

Nall winced and gave Keelani a meaningful look that she didn’t at all notice. When he returned his attention to Glain, he did so with something cold over him.

“It turns out I’m not so infertile anymore. The doctors believe I was poisoned over time, but that I’ve recovered, and am now functioning normally,” he straightened himself up to make a more imposing posture. “It would be very appreciated if you could find a way to enjoin out of the family before the child arrives. That, or I’ll have you disassociated, it’s as you prefer. You have to understand that I have to protect your little sibling to come.”

Meanwhile, Keelani stared at Nall in stunned shock, unable to phrase her disapproval at his harshness.

Of all reactions he could have had, Glain let out a single snort of laughter.

“I’ll do just that,” he replied almost spitefully. “You haven’t been my father for years, there’s no loss in cutting you out of my life. I’ll arrange to pick up my things when you aren’t home; I’m quitting my position as Conservator and moving to Culat. We’ll never have to meet ever again,” he sneered, glanced at Keelani and stabbed the button to end the transmission.

The screen turned black, and Glain was alone again. He wasn’t sure what he felt, if not sick, and for a second, the railing overlooking the ground floor held a dangerous appeal. But the young man forced breath in his throat, got up, folded the blanket and left it on the bed, and joined the others downstairs again, smiling at them although his eyes betrayed that something very wrong had just happened.

“Well…” he said, swallowing with more difficulty than normal, “it’s… It’s good to have you here,” he nodded and forced himself to fill his lungs again. “I hope you feel better…?” he tried to appear cute and gentle as he looked at Luyeour, freezing in that expression and cheeks darkening as he held his breath. Should he let it go, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t start crying.

Luyeour, who was clad in just a towel spanning his hips, was distraught at seeing Glain’s state, and had to force himself not to immediately hold him. Esmil, who was very much the same as before, winced a bit.

“Really, it’s fine,” insisted Luyeour, “don’t worry about it, I’m fine. These things just happen sometime, it’s okay – okay?”

“Yeah,” Glain nodded, bracing himself, “you’re right, these things happen sometimes and it’s… it’s okay,” he took a deeper breath. “I have a little sibling in the making, my father is disowning me for being disorderly,” he told with a crisped smile. “I guess it’s good I was going to change occupations. Family is… where we find it, I guess,” he gulped, trying to keep stoic.

“You called  _ your father? _ ”

“What are you saying?” came both at the same time, after which Luyeour and Esmil stared at each other, then at Glain, “Is it true?” wondered Luyeour, while Esmil blurted out:

“Getting disowned isn’t the worst that can happen.”

“I called Keelani, not my father,” Glain disambiguated, “she’s our housekeeper. Or was. Considering she… is with his child,” he revealed in a dull voice. “She’s as smart as you can expect and… we were close…” he bit his lips. What he meant was that she was like a mother to him, but he knew he’d lose his composure if he phrased it like that. “For now he’s asked me to go enjoin in whichever family, but that’s really just because he wants to avoid damaging his reputation,” Glain crossed his arms. “I’m not giving him that, not after all he’s put us through. He… he threw his half-sister out and  _ I _ had to be the token bearer at her joining ceremony, he just disowned his adoptees, and he gets rid of me in the same movement!” he flailed and writhed his fingers nervously.

“You’re right,” he took a step back and pointed at Esmil, “you’re absolutely right, disassociation is not the worst that can happen; it’s a relief, even. I’ve been set free, I can do all I please, rule my life as I see fit,” he waltzed around, “I need not enjoin any woman, I can lay with all the men I want, wear dresses and makeup at home if it fancies me!” he grinned almost aggressively. “My life can finally begin.”

Luyeour’s and Esmil’s expressions were unalike in that Luyeour had gone very pale and a bit intimidated, while Esmil burst into a grin and clapped his knuckles together, approving of the positive attitude, even though he knew from experience that it could turn into tears and agony in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll start planning the disassociation party right away!” he twittered and patted Luyeour’s shoulder in a way to get his luzzur out of his paralyzed state: “Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of this – go get your transport, your job awaits you. Unless, of course, you’d rather stay here?” Luyeour shook his head and cleared his throat.

“No, no, I’d better go, I have a long backlog already,” he admitted and nearly headed for the door, realizing halfway there that he needed to get clothed, and disappeared upstairs to do so.

Meanwhile Esmil had come over to Glain, laying an arm confidently over his shoulders.

“When I was disassociated from my un-family, Emyr threw my party, and ever since then, I’ve been in charge of the parties, and for this reason, I’d like to know if there are any particular cuisine you enjoy, styles of clothing, if you’re for or against erotic dancers...” he walked the other over to the sofa, taking a seat, “and if you’re the sort to want to send a little message home, just cheekily like that, you know – it can do  _ wonders _ for your mood. When  _ I _ was disassociated, I sent some pictures with me and some handsome young men to half my family – the other half got some leftover cookies, because after all, I never carried their family name and so they never really discarded me in such a rude way. Ah... memories,” he shook his head with a dreamy look up to an imaginary sky.

Glain chuckled, bottling up all his feelings so only the cheekier and happier ones surfaced.

“Erotic is good, and Kanar of course,” he grinned in approval. “For the cooking, I have some replicator recipes saved up, and I think there’s no better occasion to try them than that one,” he nodded. “Pictures, good too. And dramatic makeup. Colors and glitter, to turn our scales in a rainbow of shimmering gems and beads,” he listed and hummed. “I like theater, poetry and wildness.”

He had a second thought though.

“Admittedly, I’m not entirely sure it’s safe to send away material evidence of my disorderliness,” he frowned in slight annoyance. “He might as well throw me into court to get rid of me entirely, even if that’d probably destroy his career… What do you think? I no longer know my own father; I might as well ask you,” he snorted bitterly. “What kind of family did you disassociate from?”

Esmil blew some air through his nose at that answer, and diverted his eyes.

“A royal mess of military, politicians and, as my parents were, factory workers – though they’re an exception: they ended up that low on the ladder because their mother had a dispute with the head of family at the time,” he answered vaguely and shook his head – “proud enough, all of them, to know not to pursue me. They want me gone, not dead, if that makes sense. I have an uncle I keep in touch with, but that’s about it. So you see, only you can decide what’s the best way to tackle your situation. Family is complicated enough that no one else could judge,” he leaned a bit against the back of the sofa, turning sidewise to look at Glain a bit closer. “If you need a new family name, I could ask around if there are any volunteers. I could ask my head of family if they would consider you,” he implied, “or maybe the Ladrals would accept you into theirs, if they consider you good enough to take on. They’re very sweet people,” he reassured again, “I love them a lot.”

“I’m sure you do,” Glain smiled a bit more dreamily, then straightened up and clapped his wrists together. “My PADD!” he exclaimed and went to fetch it, “There’s someone I need to ask, and then…!” he hurriedly fidgeted with the device to type a message, turning silent for just that short moment before returning to Esmil.

“It’ll probably take some fifteen minutes before I get any reaction, maybe more,” he shrugged and asked some more about the party Esmil wanted to throw. As it went, the topic derived onto luzzurs and shamars.

“You think he wanted to enjoin Ayrona, hm?” Glain asked as Esmil mentioned Emyr again. “And you? You’re not tempted to steal the joining?” he raised an eyeridge, appreciating the distraction that discussion brought him.

“Luyeour is my luzzur, not my shamar,” Esmil answered, heaving a deep sigh. “No, I’m not tempted to steal the joining. Maybe some years ago, but not anymore – we both deserve to find someone we can truly love. I haven’t had a shamar in years; I’m starting to think it won’t happen – it’s such a pity that His Ladral is taken,” he jested only half-heartedly. “No, but, if you’re hanging in there wondering if you should give it a go – do. Besides, Luyeour isn’t exactly difficult to charm; he’s a little bit of a slut when it comes to affection. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Glain snorted.

“I have a shamar,” he told shamelessly. “He loves me, but I’m not the only one, and I’m the one without a cunt, so that’s about it for us. I’m not very fortunate with love, but that doesn’t matter. We have time, and in the meanwhile, we can have sex,” he purred. “And build careers for ourselves,” he added as Luyeour returned: “I’m sorry I spoiled the mood a bit,” Glain told him, “but at least, we’re getting a party, so it’s not such a bad tradeoff, is it?” he winked slowly and eyed him. “You look good,” he praised and got up to inspect the scientist a bit closer and spread a bit of mus on his jaw ridge.

“There… Now you’re perfect,” he approved and laid a soft kiss on his lips. “I hope you have a nice day at work. I’ll make sure to have a good day too, so you don’t worry, hm?”

Luyeour blinked in surprise at that, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Part of him wanted to give a kiss in exchange for the one he’d gotten, but he put some resistance against that.

“Any work day will be nice when you’re in my thoughts,” he answered sweetly and squirmed his way past to head to the door. “But again,” he turned and looked at the two of them, “if you’re going to have sex with each other, don’t do it in  _ my _ flat,” he re-stated with a meaningful look at both of them. “Have a good day,” he finished at last and escaped, leaving Glain and Esmil behind, knowing full well that likely, they’d fuck in his home, anyway – and  _ he’d _ be the only one left out.

“That almost sounded like an invitation for us to get going,” Glain returned to the sofa, passing behind it so he could better caress the beautiful scales of that long neck Esmil had. “I mean, going out… we have the Ministry to visit, and maybe there’s some nice spot you’d like to show me…” he suggested, leaning down to tease the other’s scales with the tip of his tongue. “ _ I _ know of some spots I’d like to discover on your body…”

Esmil, who knew from experience that the phase Glain was in was very fickle, granted him a moan and leaned his head so that his neck was more easily accessible.

“Actually,” he hummed and turned to look at his company more comfortably, “I don’t really feel like going outside today... and I know how to do it discreetly enough that no one will know a thing. I promise, Luyeour won’t even be able to guess...”

Glain grinned at that, considering that Luyeour did have a thing for cheating, which probably also included the sort of thing that Esmil was implying now.

“Please, amaze me then…”

##  * * *

If Teval didn’t know Iltarel so well, he would have considered that the young man was either trying to pull a practical joke, either high on vapes and Kanar. But it was all too clear that the matter was real and serious, and the Gul left the war room for a moment, to make a personal call from his office.

“Enjam,” he said as soon as the man’s face appeared on screen, speaking the name with a dire tone and expression, “your nephew has requested to join my family on ground of being made to disassociate from yours. I require explanation.”

The Glinn on the other side of the comlink had to rewind the words twice to try and understand them, but even as he did so, it still didn’t make any sense.

“I have to verify that,” answered the military before Enjam even got the chance to have an emotional reaction, simply ending the transmission to make one of his own.

When Nall didn’t answer the video call, Enjam instead sent a message on his PADD, which was answered in a way he would’ve preferred it hadn’t. After a moment’s shock, he dialled Teval back.

“It appears to be true,” he told him uncomfortably, thinking of himself and how his family was shrinking by the day – what would be left of it in the end? Was there even anything left of it? “If I were alone, I would’ve disassociated on the spot myself,” he added without filtering his thoughts.

At that, Teval softened.

“If you’d needed another family, I’d welcome you into mine,” he answered with a more restful smile. “Maybe it’s even time for you to shed your father’s name and embrace your career once and for all,” he suggested.

Enjam hummed at that, then snorted.

“I don’t get to have anything do I?” his mind had worked quickly and ended up elsewhere: “First my father sacrifices his own children, and then when I get a new sibling, Nall sends her away, and now he’s going to get rid of Glain – and he’s opposed to my enjoinment as well! It was better when he was in hospital,” he added venomously. “I really do wish Keelani would’ve thrown a chair at him. Maybe then she would’ve hit his head and gotten his senses back.”

Teval would have snorted in laughter if the situation wasn’t so bad.

“Enjam…” he said calmly, “what has Glain done to earn this treatment? I thought Nall would have been pleased by his following-into-his-tracks and rising popularity…”

Enjam regained enough of himself to eye Teval with caution.

“It’s not something Glain did,” he answered cryptically, “it’s something Nall did. He’s protecting his own,” he cleared his throat, “just like I should do,” he reckoned with a thought for Delna. “I feel like Nall is becoming a paranoid, unpredictable vole – first, he adopts two children, then he sends them away. First he brings home a half-thing and plans on acknowledging her, then when she turns out to be our sister, he sends her away too – and now his own son. How am I supposed to found a family? How do I know he won’t take all my funds from me to support his own future child? I need those funds for  _ my _ future children,” he stabbed a finger into the panelboard in front of him, neckscales turning a dark color.

“He’s with child!?” Teval’s eyes rounded in the same way they had the day Serila had told him she was pregnant. Then he composed himself. “This is delicate…” he considered, rubbing a thoughtful knuckle over the swirls of his chin. “I think the odds are that he’ll do exactly as you said. He’s old, he hasn’t been working much for the past three years, he’s developed a heart condition…” he listed. “Please, Enjam… It’s time,” he straightened up with serious and empathy. “In my family, you would be safe from his manipulations, and we can arrange to preserve our financial independence, so we need not be paranoid over money when we can build, together, a stronger future for our family. Our children could grow up together,” his mind was already painting a sweet picture in which he and Enjam were visiting each other’s workplace with their homemade miniature little soldiers.

Enjam nodded at that.

“It’s most kind of you to offer to take in my nephew and I – I- I’ll have to talk to Delna first,” he reckoned with a look over his shoulder.

At that, Teval turned a little more rigid.

“I meant you. You, Enjam. I’m not… entirely certain that welcoming Glain like that would… I mean,  _ you _ are a military, a Glinn, it makes  _ sense _ . But Glain? He’s a Conservator, an intellectual, and what with his reputation and Iltarel… I mean, how would people read this as anything but disorderly?” he argued embarrassedly. “I like him a lot, but in the light of the recent events…”

Something more sharp glittered by in Enjam’s eyes, and he straightened up in offense, a hand at his chest.

“I- ah – uh,” he shook his head a little to get his words, “how dare you! You just said his reputation and popularity was growing – it’s not like he got judged guilty of perversion recently, unlike certain others!”

“Trial at which he  _ witnessed _ against my nephew!” Teval too got offended, “And we both know that if not for that feud between Glain and that Archon, my son would have stayed fit to procreate and enjoin without having to undergo surgery twice,” he grumbled in further offense. “And it’s no secret that Glain tried to court the same person as my son has; it’ll look really odd if I adopt him into my family,” he maintained. “There  _ will _ be gossip. I mean, with his rising popularity, he could very well take a name for himself, right? The Jarad family name wouldn’t help him much in his career – Denek always complained about how he wasn’t getting promotions because of our family name,” he gestured.

“Glain can’t help that  _ your _ nephew chose to have sex in public – if he didn’t want to be in a trial, he shouldn’t have been illegal and disorderly,” Enjam lifted a lecturing finger at Teval and towered the screen a little. “You be careful with condemning justice – to think that you’d be afraid that people would think our nephews are luzzurs, when yours was in a literal trial over such disorderly matters. To think that I considered you anything more than a self-serving, self-flattering... no wonder you won’t even go work on a ship, you’re too much of a coward to actually do something that puts you at risk – even if it’s the right thing to do.”

“A coward!? Me!?” Teval flared, “Oh, but that’s easy for you to say when you don’t have to support the pressure of a full armada of guls and all the legates in Central Command and retirement!” he straightened up as well. “I’m no coward, Enjam Rokat! I am a tactician, and tactic I observe instead of rushing right into a fight that will ripe naught but trampled harvest!  _ You  _ tell me what my name would offer to Glain that any other name wouldn’t!” he challenged.

“People he loves and trusts!” Enjam instantly answered and leaned forwards with a sneer. It seemed that he was going to follow up with something even more venomous, but he sank back in his chair instead, crippled into a more tired posture. “Vesala,” he added and shook his head: “This isn’t a military battlefield, Jarad. Or at least, it doesn’t have to be, unless you want it to be. I’d rather play kotra with you than start a new relationship of mutual despise and distrust.”

Teval’s anger deflated at that, and his expression turned much sweeter and sorry.

“It’s a tough situation and we’re both taken aback,” he reckoned. “You’ve always been the bold and brave one, and I the minutious and calculating one…” he muttered in consideration. “I suppose it’s true that Glain needs a family rather than-” he froze as he realized Enjam no longer was alone on screen.

“What are you two talking about?” asked Delna, who had snuck into the room due to the screaming.

Teval laid back in his seat to let Enjam share the news. It was still  _ his _ family after all, even if, maybe, not for long anymore.

“My brother has decided to force Glain to disassociate,” Enjam told her without looking at her nor Teval, “his own son, just like that – and I had to learn it through…” he gestured to the screen. “We have to discuss the options. I’d rather stay family with Glain more than with Nall,” he finished in honesty.

“Wait, what?” Delna made a face, something mixing outrage and disbelief.

“Nall is with child,” Teval shared the explanation, and the woman’s expression changed entirely. Now that made sense.

“Alright…” she looked at both men, setting her fists on her hips, “Now that  _ is _ very unfortunate,” she agreed. “Maybe ypu should disassociate, Enjam,” she said seriously. “Things are getting too worrying with your brother, what with what he did to your sister and to the kids just now… This isn’t good, and we have to think of our family. We can keep the name Rokat but severe ties – it’s a legal option, and it wouldn’t be the first time such things happen. The Kovat family had it happen too a generation or two ago,” she argued.

“I have offered Enjam to join my family,” Teval thought to tell, holding to his mental painting of their joined happy families. “It would be most beneficial for our offsprings, and I would be delighted to see you two enjoined.”

“Yes,” Delna rasped, “but Jarad is a military family name.”

“And what is wrong with that? That’s perfect for Enjam.”

“Too bad I’m not him,” she glared at him, then looked at her partner. “What do you think, Enjam?  _ Glinn Rokat _ ,” she outlined.

Enjam wasn’t sure he liked any of this, nor where it was going.

“If I were younger, I would’ve enjoined – I mean,” his neckscales darkened, “I would’ve taken the Jarad family name in a heartbeat. It would’ve made it possible for me to have a career without the constant fear that someone might have a grudge against someone in my family and kill me to get to them, like what happened to my siblings,” he swallowed rather hard, “but I’m not young: Delna is young. And she needs to build her career so that she can support the family – especially if it’s just going to be us and Glain – when I’m gone.” His shoulders slumped a bit. “What’s for certain is that I can’t enjoin into a family who won’t accept my nephew.  _ He _ is my family.”

“Alright,” Teval nodded, feeling that he had to up his game. “How much family is he? Is he so enough that you’d adopt him as I have done for Iltarel and Pitir? If he were your son, then I would have no qualms in letting him join my family along with you – that would be sensical and orderly,” he offered.

Delna’s expression was slightly puzzled and confused. She clearly had issues imagining herself as Glain’s  _ aunt _ . Enjam considered this in thoughtful silence; it was a good offer. The Jarad family was versatile – it had been known to span several fields of work, and its military reputation was quite attractive. Delna, on the other hand, didn’t seem as enchanted by the prospect, but then again, she didn’t have the best experience in regards to military families, which was a prejudice and not necessarily rooted in logic.

“I will contact Glain,” Enjam answered and held up a hand to prevent any preemptive conclusions, “and then we’ll talk – you, me, Delna and Glain, and whoever else from your family that you think is representative. It’s important not to rush into these things,” he reckoned, “or rush away from them, for that matter.” he added with a look to his future wife. If she’d at least humour him and think about it before deciding that she definitively didn’t want it, he’d be more than satisfied.

The young woman looked at him and blushed a little, remembering their first date and how she’d pressed him with slightly unfair questions then.

“Yes,” she agreed, “that is reasonable,” and she did find it attractive when Enjam was being reasonable.

“Then I will be waiting for further information,” Teval answered graciously. “And I will talk with my family in the meanwhile ...Tonight, I guess,” he nodded.

“And I have to talk to mine,” Enjam realized with a pained expression and winced – thinking about his brother was like putting a hand on an electric fence, and he threw himself backwards in the seat. His and Teval’s argument had been dulling the pain that was now encroaching on him. “I’m sorry I insulted you,” he said at last, “I don’t envy you your position, and I know that it comes with a lot of work, and you’re certainly not a coward,” he sighed and fiddled around with his hands, until he could find Delna’s hand and hold onto that, “I’ll let you know when we can have this meeting. I hope it goes well for you with your discussion.”

“I wish you the same,” Teval replied warmly.

He was about to add more when Delna interrupted him:

“Yes, you two luzzurs can talk all you want in the next conversation; if you’ll excuse us, we also have a twelve-year old girl to take care of since Nall returned his two adoptees to their orphan status.”

“He…!”

“Yes,” she confirmed to the Gul and ended the conversation,  turning to her Glinn as to say “shall we discuss that matter too?”

Enjam still had a bewildered expression when Delna look at him.

“We’re not luz-” then he interrupted himself with a frown, silencing into a weird thought, “or maybe we are,” he reckoned with some quick blinking, “I never thought about it like that before.”

“That’s yet another discussion for you two,” she nodded, “but right now, we have a young girl tucked in Glain’s bed with books to read, and I’d like to know what to tell her when she comes out of the room,” she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall – everything happened so fast that they didn’t even get a second to discuss about Tilayan, and the teen herself didn’t even seem to know what was going on at all, unless she was really good at concealing any distraught feelings she might have. “What are your plans for her, Enjam?” Delna asked.

The Glinn filled his lungs with tense air and held his breath for a moment, pondering the situation as he exhaled through the nose. Finally, he made a decision and shook his head.

“She’s a girl and you’re a woman, and you’ve got education relevant to this kind of situation – I think, perhaps, you’re more qualified to come up with ideas. I’ll accept anything except expulsing her or adopting her myself,” he disclosed, wilting a bit in his chair. “As for me, I think I need to call Nall. I need to tell him that I... that I no longer want to be his brother,” he looked down at the instrument board and shook his head: “After all those siblings my father managed to steal from us, who would’ve known I’d be the one to get rid of the last?”

She smiled at him fondly and held his face as she kissed him.

“It’s difficult, I understand very well, and usually I would try to advocate for patching things up, but as it is…” she sighed. “I’ll go check what I can do for the girl and talk with her. I let you deal with your brother,” she straightened up and left to do as she said.

##  * * *

Staring back at himself from the dark console screen, Enjam almost couldn’t recognize himself. The man looking back at him was old and worn, and the anger that had fuelled him so strongly just moments ago seemed to have left nothing behind but the aching hole it had seared in his chest.

An unfathomable long moment passed as the soldier did nothing. There he was: a soldier with years of service behind him, shivering with fear at the thought of calling his own brother. At last, he steeled himself and pushed the button, watching the little green symbols flicker and dance in and out towards the middle of the loading screen circle.

When Nall answered, he was visibly agitated, obviously expecting an argument.

“My mind’s made up, Enjam,” he stated before the other got to say anything at all, “and the decision has been finalized. I really  _ don’t _ need to fight you too,” he made to shut off the call, but Enjam was faster and on his end, he turned the call into one only he could eliminate. A little bit of abuse in regards to his freedoms as a Glinn, but he didn’t care.

“I’m not calling to dispute your decision as head of family,” he croaked hoarsely, emotions going dead inside of him – he knew they were bottling themselves up for later – “but I have a few things I need to discuss with you before I make some decisions of my own-” Nall clenched his jaws.

“-If this is about your enjoinment-”

“-It’s not,” interjected Enjam, and he straightened up in his chair, entering a professional role, as he had so many times before. “You’re destroying this family, you have proven to be impulsive, irrational-”

“-If you’re trying to challenge me for the right to run this family, I’ll have you know I was processed by a psychologist upon leaving the hospital, and I was deemed perfectly sane,” Nall had taken a similar posture, although  _ he _ was smiling, because it was part of a Conservator’s job to look sweet.

“It’s not about that either,” Enjam caught himself speaking through his teeth, which caused Nall a moment of confusion, which in turn allowed for silence to wedge itself in between the two of them.

“Then what do you want?” Nall asked at last.

“I’d like to disassociate, and I’d like to discuss the possibility to keep the Rokat family name while doing so,” Enjam boldly briefed his brother, who at first couldn’t even make a word, but then broke into a snort, followed by a scandalized expression.

“Keeping the family name while disassociating? And you think I’d agree to that? Ha! Who told you such a thing was even possible?” he leaned forward, and there was something else about his eyes, something Enjam didn’t like – a detachment, as if someone had flipped a switch, causing the other to no longer care at all.

“Delna,” he answered, “The Kovat fam-”

“-Ahh, the Kovat case!” Nall snickered and flung himself back in the chair, “I’m surprised she even knows about it – it’s a messy story, but it doesn’t contain anything about official disassociation. If you’re interested, I can-”

“-I am not interested,” Enjam pressed through his teeth, holding onto the armrests of his couch so hard that his knuckles were whitening. “Is this really it?” he asked more roughly: “I call you to tell that I want to disassociate, and your reaction is to give me some ridiculous lecture? You don’t even seem to care,” he remarked. “Doesn’t it make you feel  _ anything? _ Tell me what you feel! Tell me you’re angry! Tell me you’re offended, but for State’s sake,  _ react _ to me,” he smacked a fist in his own chest. “Do you know how it felt for me to make this call? Do you know how it must’ve felt to be your  _ son _ and be rejected? Your sister? What’s wrong with you?”

All through his rant, Nall hadn’t changed his posture, although now the smile was gone, replaced with something more hardened.

“It takes six days to finalize a disassociation,” the Conservator told him factually, “and for those six days, you’ll still be considered a member of the Rokat family, I’ll treat you like family, I’ll think of you as family – I’ll forgive you if you change your mind. But once it’s finalized? You shouldn’t dare hope for anything from the Rokat family, and I  _ will _ consider you a liability.”

“I am your brother!” Enjam burst, entirely unprepared for this strange cold that had seemed to take his brother over like a parasite.

“Are you?” Nall snarked back, “I am going to have a child, and your reaction is to leave-”

“-Only because  _ everyone else _ has been made to leave!” Enjam interrupted, his neck getting hot, “You’ve sent everyone away, Nall! Everyone! I don’t want for my wife to have to enjoin into a family run by a psychopath who cuts away everyone who doesn’t fit his perfect little idea of how people are supposed to be! I don’t want a child to grow up in that kind of-”

“-And what even are you going to do with your child? No family name, no money – I suppose you’ll turn him into a soldier, some fodder whose potential will be wasted and whose death will be celebrated, just like that of our siblings – think about it, Enjam!” Nall stabbed his fingers at the screen, “Without the Rokat family to back you up, you  _ won’t _ be able to get him into Sidjartan-”

“-I wouldn’t want to put him in there in the first place, especially not if he’ll come out acting  _ like you _ – you un-cardassian, ungrateful, pompous, reality-removed-”

There, Nall had finally moved to abuse his own privileges, and used his Conservator’s code to terminate the call, leaving Enjam with a screen just as dead as his bond with his brother. He was pretty sure Nall was going to pick up drinking, or steal all his funds, and spared no time doing the same as he suspected Nall would – access his accounts to move funds, and moved all of his money to Delna’s account.

Then came a moment of blank reckoning as hormones receded and reality wove itself into something adamantly present.

“I’ve destroyed my family,” the old Glinn murmured in a small voice, sinking on himself.

How many times hadn’t he, as a youth, been plagued by the un-cardassian wish to be freed from the Rokat family name? And now, when it had happened, fate had been just slow enough that there was no comfort to be found in the realization. Forcing a breath out of himself, he resolved to get up – he needed to make things official.

“I can’t be wearing this,” was his first concern as he looked down at his civilian attire. Soon enough, he regained the safe shell of his armor.

##  * * *

Last time Enjam had visited an office like this, it had been to record his promotion to Glinn, as well as his status as next-in-line to become head of family, after his sister had been reported permanently missing. Needless to say, it had been a moment of conflicting emotions, and so long ago that it was hardly a surprise that the woman behind the desk had grown silver lines in her hair, and darker ones in her face.

“Glinn Enjam Rokat,” she said as she peered at him over her reading glasses, her expression pinched as if she’d bitten into something sour.

“I’m here to disassociate from my family,” Enjam declared with a stiff posture. The woman wasn’t impressed, nor shocked.

“And you’ll have to go to the waiting room, take a ticket, and wait for your turn, just like everyone else. This is a  _ civilian _ institution processing only  _ civilian  _ needs.”

“I’m a Glinn,” pressed Enjam, “it’s better for my status-”

“-If it’s too much of a wear on your status to be seen in a waiting room, then you probably shouldn’t disassociate in the first place,” the woman put down her PADD and straightened up in her seat, revealing an elegant, long neck. “Now, either you go quietly, or I’ll have to call the guards,” she stapled her fingers together.

Enjam, whose neck had darkened a bit, tightened his lips and left the room, disorientated now that he’d entered the building entirely in the wrong order. The guards posted outside gave him odd looks as he passed by – after all, they hadn’t seen anyone enter – and when he was about to round a corner, one of them was kind enough to clear his throat and advise him to go to the right, lest he’d end up in the cleaning cabinet instead of the entrance.

The waiting room was nearly deserted, much to Enjam’s relief. The walls, which were covered in screens playing live feed from a local aquarium, spread around the hexagonal room like a cage, and in the center, it valved down on the ticket machine, which read number  _ twenty nine _ .

Enjam’s ticket, which took way too long to print, showed him that there were twenty cases ahead of him, likely because other people planned their business weeks ahead of time, because they were good and self-respecting Cardassians.

With a sigh, Enjam sunk onto one of the benches, and dug around in his pocket, finding his PADD at last, and stared at it a little, flicking forth to Glain’s name, nearly making the call. But then he hesitated and, looking around suspiciously, shuffled a bit closer to the large, potted plant that sat at the other end of the bench. Then, he pressed the button, waiting for his nephew to answer the call.

Glain, who was in the middle of a rather shameless mutual neckjob with Esmil, took a moment to answer, and as he did so, his voice was a bit hoarse.

“ _ Uncle? _ ” he just groaned in mild confusion, trying to make it sound like he’d been crying rather than anything else that Enjam’s imagination could do without.

Enjam steeled himself and straightened in his seat with a nod.

“Yes, I am your uncle,” he answered, because that was quite relevant, “and it’s my goal to remain such –” in the background, a computer voice called on  _ Number thirteen _ along with a formal clang-sound. Enjam, who found himself thrown off of tracks, cleared his throat and looked around, to make sure no one was snooping, then leaned closer, hushing his voice: “I have negotiated with Teval Jarad, and he has agreed to enjoin me; now all I have to do is to convince Delna. And I thought, we’d set up a meeting, and you’re going to come as well, like a formal dinner of sorts, to convince her – well, and also listen to her opinions, but – but, um,” his shoulders slumped, “are you alright? Where are you staying? I’d feel better if you came. To stay with me and Delna. Tilayan is here as well, she could use your company.”

It took a few seconds for Glain to make sense of that jumble of words, but then he nodded and exhaled.

“ _ I’m… a bit busy just now, and also I’m in Culat, prospecting… a job, _ ” he tried not to grin at Esmil, saying that. “ _ I… I couldn’t bear to see fa- Nall, at the Ministry, _ ” he justified. “ _ But a dinner? I can surely make it. When would that be? _ ” Then he rewinded a bit. “ _ Wait, did you just say you’re disassociating? And associating with the Jarad family? _ ”

Getting the answer  _ I’m a bit busy _ after telling about his decision, wasn’t exactly what Enjam had expected, and felt a bit like a repeat of Nall’s mellow response.

“Yes,” he answered at last, the military voice taking over, “if Delna agrees, I will adopt you as mine, and then I will join Teval’s family. I have been made to lose so many members of my family already, I don’t want to lose any more.”

Glain softened at that, laying in Esmil’s warm embrace.

“ _ A sentiment I share, my dear uncle, _ ” he murmured. “ _ And I mean it: you are  _ **_very_ ** _ dear to me- ah… _ ” he sighed, a tint of alcohol making it in his voice, maybe. “ _ I will be there, and… no matter what happens, I shall remain yours for so long as you’ll have me, _ ” he hummed although he wasn’t entirely conscious of what he was agreeing to beyond some kind of filial love declaration.

Enjam’s eyeridges narrowed a bit in response, and he squinted at the PADD.

“Are you drunk?” he asked like he’d figured something out.

“ _ Absolutely- not, _ ” Glain corrected, snuggling closer to Esmil and teasing his neck with a finger while cheekily signaling him to keep silent. “ _ Do you know Keelani is pregnant? It’s amazing isn’t it? That baby isn’t born yet and it’s already an un-sibling to me. Although we have yet to see if it lives to see the day, _ ” he suggested and nuzzled his lover’s chin.

Enjam, who could well understand why Glain would be so careless about such things (especially if he was indeed drunk), rolled his eyes and sighed with tight lungs.

“Don’t wish such things on Keelani,” he reproached him. “It’s enough that she lost her husband and that her next is the way he is – a woman always suffers more from a miscarriage, and I know that it’s  _ Nall _ you’re upset at,” he leaned back and the clanging sound repeated in the background, announcing  _ Number fourteen _ and then  _ Number fifteen _ , as it seemed one of the people working there must’ve gotten back from a break.

“ _ Nall…! Maybe I should have my genetics tested too, _ ” Glain agreed, “ _ Who knows if I’m even truly his son, what with how he’s been repeating over and over that I’m more like  _ **_Melekor_ ** _ , _ ” he sneered. “ _ He never was satisfied with me ever since I admitted to him about my preference; he wished he’d gotten a gentle little girl, and instead he got a confused boy and he couldn’t deal with it. Well I can’t deal with him either! You know what he did to me, you know everything. Oh, that day just before Reyal’s trial, he said he was so proud of me choosing to become a Conservator, and that he would help me, but  _ **_when_ ** _ I did seek for his guidance, he  _ **_refused_ ** _ to give me any. Because he’s so stuck up in pitying himself that he can’t even see that…. That that’s one thing we do have in common, _ ” Glain haphazardly realized as he spoke. Then snorted. “ _ I’m not his son, haven’t been for years… But you’re very good, uncle, _ ” he said more appeasingly. “ _ I’ll call you later, _ ” he added and pressed the button to end the call, or tried to at least.

As he let go of the device to better set his attention back onto Esmil and make him moan, he was fully unaware that the call wasn’t terminated yet.

“ _ He seems really- _ ” Esmil interrupted himself as Glain’s lips settled on his neck again, causing his scales to tingle, “ _ -really nice, _ ” he gasped further, clawing his fingers into Glain’s hair, moaning against his neck – “ _ Very nice, _ ” he muttered into that hot, scaly skin.

On his side, Enjam had straightened up from the PADD as if it was suddenly emitting a foul smell. Rather than start arguing or try to get some attention from the other end, he terminated the call and shuddered to himself – Glain was drinking and sleeping around again.  _ All _ his good efforts to turn his nephew back on solid ground had gone full reverse, and it was Nall’s fault. Sighing, he started jotting down a message to Delna, detailing what had just happened, just so that she’d know what had happened with her little project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	45. V - Switching boards

#  Switching boards

The Merekana restaurant was a favored place for families in need of discussing serious topics. It was more of a conference establishment, with private dinner salons where discussions could be held in a cozy-clean setting. Nothing too fancy to distract the participants, nothing too cold either – it was about as neutral a setting as it could get, and the cattering was decent too.

Teval had brought along his wife, Serila, and Denek’s State-disassociated wife, Mira. And Iltarel – Iltarel, who had invited Dayar (which he justified on the grounds that  _ Enjam _ invited Delna, who also was his sulim-to-be). Glain, who didn’t know very well who was going to be present, smiled at the sight of his luzzur. Then his sight faltered at the realization that the Soukaran was there too, a confused frown marking doubt on his face:

“Don’t you dare tell me that you’ve already enjoined and I wasn’t invited…” he probed, clearly considering the eventuality as something very possible.

“Glain, no!” Iltarel showed offense.

“With what goes on these days…” Glain defended himself, waving his hands a bit dramatically. “But I do count on you two inviting me when the day comes,” he addressed the both of them, with a serious and honest look, for Dayar especially. “And I’d love it if I could have about a month’s notice too, because my schedule is going to be quite busy and I won’t be around Lakat so much anymore,” he gave the Soukaran a slightly smug smile as to say ‘ _ see, I won’t be in your way, _ ’ then revealed: “I’ve been approved to work as Archon in Culat. Next time you see me in a dress, it’ll be very orderly this time,” he cracked a little grin, mischievous and charming.

Dayar wasn’t sure what expression was the right one to go with such a huge revelation.

“It’s good that you’re... uh, handling the situation well,” he tried to imagine Glain wearing an Archon’s robe, but didn’t manage. Then he got back to the track he had already set for himself  _ before _ Glain had gone and destroyed his plan: “I’m sorry about your situation, I know what it’s like to not be wanted,” he tried to offer a smile on top of that, even though he wasn’t sure anymore that Glain needed any reassurance from anyone. Still, the words were welcomed with a warm and sunny smile, and thanks for those sweet and thoughtful words.

A bit further away, stood Enjam, wearing a mask that betrayed none of his feelings on that matter. Clad like the Glinn he was, he held his aim on the goal without allowing much distractions from outside. Careful contemplation and discipline intermingled in his eyes, which were, in that moment, set on Teval’s wife, to whom he offered a kind smile.

“It must be any day now,” he reckoned the size of her womb, “I’ve seen many of my colleagues’ wives in this late state of pregnancy; it’s a cause for careful celebration,” he nodded factually to himself.

Serila offered him an acid, predatory grin.

“Your dear friend the Gul would rather I’d stayed home, but it is my opinion that I should be there at least as much as that one,” she eyed discreetly at Mira, who was greeting Delna.

Teval chose that moment to clear his voice and invite everyone to sit, cutting short discussions (that were going unusually well, on Glain and Dayar’s behalf).

“Thank you all for your coming,” he said once all had sat. “We are here to discuss the possibility for the Jarad family to welcome others as our own. Enjam Rokat’s request is sensical and I am ready to let him share our name. He is an exemplary soldier, and I hope to see him share my title as gul someday too,” he professionally exposed. “I also approve of his wife-to-be, Delna.  _ Glain _ , however,” he said and most gazes landed on the youth, “is a Conservator-”

“-Archon, now,” Glain corrected and Teval showed annoyance.

“And what next?” the Gul grimaced but continued: “Glain is a civilian and in the light of his reputation and the late affair with my son, Iltarel, I consider it unwise to let him join us directly. Iltarel is to be joined with Dayar, and I don’t wish for their couple to be plagued by ambiguity,” he stared pointedly at Glain.

“I have nothing to oppose, I’m guilty as charged,” Glain reckoned, which threw the Gul off-track as he hadn’t expected the absence of defense.

Enjam, however, perked up in his chair.

“With the approval of Delna, of course,” he looked sidewise to her, “I would like to adopt Glain as my own. That way, he’ll be indirectly incorporated in the family,” he looked at Glain to seek some sort of mutual understanding, perhaps a bit of pleading for him to let it happen.

Glain looked at his uncle fondly, and at Delna, then Iltarel, Dayar, Teval, Serila and Mira.

“I was in a deplorable emotional state when Nall quite crudely and plainly told me that it would be best of me to disassociate myself, and I first thought of my luzzur. I regret not to have turned to you first, uncle,” he gave Enjam an apologetic look. “Yet, the facts are what they are, and they reveal something, I believe. I see you as your own person, a man of the military who never truly was allowed to belong in the Rokat family, and I welcome the idea that you should find a rightful home among the Jarads. I hope Delna will appreciate it as much. As for myself, I am afraid that Teval stands points. I have harmed Iltarel, and Dayar too, and now that I have calmed down enough to let reason guide my calling, I hold the belief that I am unfit to join the Jarad family-” Iltarel tried to react but Glain held up his hand, still looking at his uncle- “ I shall form my own family, uncle, but that doesn’t mean we would no longer be family.”

Enjam’s throat got tight and he caught a breath in his mouth, one that was difficult and painful to swallow. He cleared his throat, pale with shock and eyes starting to get wet with it.

“I see,” his voice came out mangled and pained. Never before had he felt quite so alone. The soldier balled his hands into fists in his lap and tried to steel himself, he opened his mouth to say something again, but his throat was strangling him, so he couldn’t muster much of a voice. Delna laid a comforting hand on his lap under the table and sent Glain a slightly harsh look.

“I hope you do,” Glain answered more softly. “The Rokat family is dying, but we must survive, at least for the sake of those who didn’t, those whom your father let be outcast in death and shadows. You and I have both become strangers in our own family home. It’s time we shed this pretence that we ever belonged,” he nodded more gravely. “I have informed my mother’s family of what is to come, so they shan’t learn it from broadcast gossip, and I have been offered to join their side, by rule of blood. I haven’t decided yet, as the choice holds a great many political implications and vesala to compare, but I let you all know that I am contemplating. ...I know they aren’t most favored by the military…” he reckoned and Serila snorted.

Enjam didn’t much want to have a breakdown in front of everyone, though in that moment, it was very close, so he nodded with tight lips, while trying to avoid eye-contact with absolutely everyone. He felt betrayed, both by his own naivety, but also by Glain, and it was the latter that hurt the most.

“Liyara’s family always had that effect on people,” he remarked without much fondness left over for them, “it’s no wonder she forbade any contact between us and the rest of them. Rumor has it that most of them are corrupted by  _ un-Cardassian _ ideals. I’d advice against joining them, if you truly want to be an Archon but – but it’s your decision.”

“Yes,” Glain muttered shortly, “but at least they have no ties with the Brotherhood, unlike a certain Melekor Rokat had, expurging the military of its best men and women,” he pointed without looking directly at anyone either. “There are rumors of children trafficking in that group, and that is even more un-Cardassian,” he slipped and both Mira and Serila winced in disgust. Delna said nothing, absently looking at the table.

“As I said,” Glain spoke again, “my choice isn’t made yet, and you are very dear to me, uncle. I don’t wish to lose you over vesala, and I am ready to face the world alone if I should.”

“Glain, that’s way too dangerous!” Iltarel whined at last.

“But nephew!” Enjam burst at the same time as Iltarel, “We’re here for you! Why are you even considering such things? You – you are wanted,” he bit himself in the tongue and furiously bottled up his emotions, trying to keep the liquid back in his eyes.

Iltarel looked at Dayar for help: “Archons can’t fare without family, can they?”

Dayar shook his head.

“Archons... are in an extremely vulnerable seat of society. There’s a reason few dare aspire to become such – any indication that something is askew, and you’ll have hundreds of slighted former convicts and their vesala on you in a second,” he looked up and at Glain. “You should try to join another family within the same field. A family of Archons is not the same as a family of Conservators – the latter is honorable, but the dangers of being a Conservator  _ pales _ in comparison to the dangers of being an Archon,” he glanced sidewise at Iltarel, then away, knowing that he knew too much about it for his own good.

“You’re absolutely right,” Glain agreed with tender appreciation. “I am more resourceful in vesala than you can know, and I know I must serve Cardassia well, which is why I shall seek to enjoin a mate of my field. As I said, I must found a family of my own, conform, provide more children to the State… It appears to me that it might just end up being the wisest and most reasonable course of action. If I were to find comfort in adoption, I am not entirely certain of the signal that would send, and my new profession could put you all at risk…”

Enjam made a pathetic sound of a whimper and stopped himself by grabbing onto Delna’s hand and forcing a smile onto his lips. He had destroyed the Rokat family – Nall didn’t care he was gone, Glain didn’t care to come with him, and Keelani... Keelani hadn’t even contacted him since that call.

Dayar swallowed hard and sent Glain a sidewise look.

“You are going to have to sacrifice everything for it, you know that, don’t you?” he asked rather harshly. “You’ll have to cut Iltarel out of your life. If you have any lovers, you’ll need to keep them secret, and when you get enjoined, you must... get rid of them,” he made a line over his own neck with a shaking finger, “one way or the other. It’s not a profession for the weak of heart. Or for the impulsive.”

Glain froze his expression to avoid betraying his emotions as he observed those words. He’d thought about it, but he knew he’d done so with the arrogance that he might manage without so much sacrifice.

Before he could answer, Mira spoke:

“It’s not too late, Glain… I always thought you could be such a wonderful artist; you are so refined and you have the skills too…”

“Yes, my nephew is very gifted,” Enjam hurried to boast, hoping to snipe Glain out of the match, “he’s got a wonderful voice – from his father’s side – and an evolved sense of rythm. It runs in the family,” he puffed himself up a little: “Glain, sing something,” he more or less ordered.

Glain stared at him, rather taken aback and confused by the turnout.

“Uncle, this wouldn’t be proper…”

“You’re right!” Mira agreed, digging down the table to grab a case, which she promptly ushered to Iltarel, “Play, he needs music,” she ordered to her son.

“Mo-mother…” Iltarel tried to protest.

“What kind of ploy is that?” Glain echoed, almost alarmed.

“Just obey your parents,” Teval required of the youth, who were throwing looks of total bewilderment.

Eventually, they complied, taking a minute together to decide what to play, and chose a song dear to the both of them, one that Glain had often said it reminded him of that night on Soukara…

It was a beautiful song about soldiers reminiscing their younger years and first experience of danger and fear, of bravery and brotherhood, with an homerotic subtext if one were disorderly like that. But they sung and played it proper, celebrating the beauty of the lyrics and tune. The voice and the strings matched each other nicely, chemistry rising with elegance. Dayar, on his behalf, had dissolved in dark shades and could barely hide his disorderly conclusions about the song. Very good, he thought to himself, nearly a reject.

“I love that song,” Serila commented in the end, drumming her knuckles in appreciation..

Enjam, who had enjoyed it as well, gave a solid nod at the sentiment.

“It’s a very good one,” he agreed with a quick look to Teval, “don’t you agree?” he fished.

“It’s ah… a very good song, although…” Teval squinted at the young men like at culprits.

“Yes,” Glain agreed with a sour expression. “I’m sorry, Mira, but I honestly  _ don’t _ think I’d ever get a clean reputation if I were to become an artist.”

“What difference would that make anyway? They’re all confused; you’d blend in just fine,” the instrument maker agreed.

“Are  _ you _ confused too?” Glain raised an eyeridge and Serila snorted again.

“Glain, sweetscale…” Mira just sighed, revealing nothing, although Teval was now looking at her, wondering very much if she had done anything disorderly.

“I think that Glain has studied law and that it would make the most sense for him to make use of those skills…” Delna dared raise her voice. “But it is true that the question of vesala is an important one. To become an Archon is a tedious path, and I’d rather see him backed by a strong and supportive family. Glain is bound to the Dain through his aunt, and they count Ministerial interrogators. The Jarad family only possesses one Conservator, and, if I may say so,” she excused herself to Teval and Mira, “I’m not sure Lukat is to be trusted for help.”

“There’s no offense in saying that; it’s only the truth,” Teval agreed.

“Lukat is going through a difficult period,” Mira defended her son, “he has lost his wife and his father. I believe this might just make him more empathetic.”

“I have vesala to back me, but I cannot reveal any of their identities,” Glain cut short.

“Invisible vesala doesn’t make for a very good shield…” Iltarel grunted.

Enjam shot Delna a despaired look – he knew that likely, from her perspective it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to take distance to Glain. After all, she was very much in the same position as Keelani and Nall. At the same time, she had put up with so many compromises already, that he wasn’t about to contradict her.

“I will trust Delna’s judgement in this,” he declared with a squeeze to her hand, his eyes warming up. Then he looked to Glain. He didn’t want to lose him.

“If you wish to join into your mother’s family, that would be only normal and comprehensible – they are blood kin,” Delna spoke soft words to Glain, “but please, consider Enjam’s offer again. You are his only nephew, the only one he’ll ever have… And he’s your only uncle. As you pointed, the two of you share common points. Eight Lidek, Eight Revak…” she mentioned, and that seemed to touch Glain at last.

The fine composure he’d put together was starting to unravel, and his emotions were surfacing behind the mask, although he still tried to keep them under control.

“Glain… You need a family. Now.”

“I… I…” he tried to say, but his words stayed blocked in his throat.

“I need you, luzzur,” Iltarel echoed, even if that was selfish. “Please, don’t discard me.”

“I disassociated from my own brother for you,” Enjam told weakly, his left eyeride twitching a little, “I already lost you once, I don’t want to lose you twice,” he didn’t dare look at his nephew this time, “but regardless of what you decide, I’ll be protecting you. You are my nephew, and I am proud of you,” he straightened up an took a deep breath.

Although he wished to get up and comfort his uncle, Glain remained seated and looked at Teval and Serila.

“You are the strategists, and head of the Jarad family… What is your judgement in the light of all this?”

“With you becoming an Archon, it’s a tough call,” Teval started. “In Culat, you said? Science trials?”

“Hm, scientists aren’t the worst danger there,” Serila hummed. “They are petty and hold onto grudges, but they rarely have a lot of means and influence over much anything, and their vesalas tend to be very disordered and unreliable. However, the financials who invest in science  _ are _ a real danger. You don’t want to upset them too much, and what with that trial with that Barvonok urchin that you conserved, you’re starting the race with needles in your boots…” she squinted and frowned. “I think you can pull it off,” she ruled although that stood as a contrast to her previous words. “You’ve already shown that you are enduring and that you are tougher than you give to see. Your career might go high and low, but you can land on your feet and climb again.”

“Then… Should Enjam adopt you, you shall be allowed in our family,” Teval finally spoke. “But should you cause the least problem to any one of us, you will have to go, which I do not wish upon you. You will regard me as head of family but your money shall remain your own. I will hope to see you enjoined, but you are granted the time it takes for this to happen within good circumstances.”

“I can abide by this,” Glain bowed respectfully.

Enjam heaved a sigh of relief and leaned backwards in his seat, nodding with resolution.

“Then it is decided,” he confirmed and gave Serila a thankful smile, “we will all come together as one family and, and I’ll be honored to be part of it. And so will Delna,” he added and patted Delna’s hand.

For all the relief Enjam had, Glain’s shoulders dropped from the weight of internal dread and pressure.

“I-” he tried to speak, finding his voice rather dry, “I must remind everybody here that there is a delay of resiliation, and that if anyone has any qualm against this decision, any change of heart, then the decision can be revoked. During that delay,” he cleared his voice.

“Glain, please… Trust us for once,” Iltarel sighed. “You don’t  _ have _ to be alone. Why else would you come?”

“I had to gather my things so I can leave,” Glain answered on automatic. “We’re not going to meet so much anymore… And that is for the better…” he murmured, gaze drifting onto Dayar. “Don’t you think?” he asked, looking at that one.

Dayar bristled at that. He wasn’t sure what he felt about the entire ordeal – it made him uneasy that  _ Glain _ was going to carry the Jarad family name before he did, and for such reckless reasons as well. Glain was going to have  _ it all _ , carelessly, lightly – he’d get to have his luzzur, his luzzur’s family for his own, he’d get to have all this support, he’d become Archon without sacrificing anything at all.

“I’d rather not have an opinion about it,” he shared starkly and sat back in his seat. “I’ll leave you to your own decision; it’s not up to me how much time you’re willing to give your own luzzur.”

He glared to the side, shuddering at the same time, then he looked back at Glain: “And if you think you’re going to manipulate me into driving a wedge between me and Iltarel out of some sort of selfishness that you have projected within me, don’t expect satisfaction. I only want what’s best for him.”

“Then maybe the two of you should move to Culat?” Glain raised a tired eyeridge. “There are engineering positions he could get there, and there are exobiologists who could benefit from a skilled translator to better communicate with aliens.”

“I can’t,” Dayar stiffened a bit, “I need to stay close to my uncle, at least until I get enjoined.” It was both true and humiliating.

“Until then, that gives yout time to think about it,” Glain smiled more restfully. “You’re so rough, you know that?” he added with a little more cunning, although it was all very clear that it was praise. “State, let me live to see the two of you enjoined…”

Dayar sent Glain a squinted look, full of suspicion. He wasn’t sure he trusted him entirely – if anything, this development made it more of a necessity to thread carefully.

“And I wish to live long enough to see you become Archon,” he implied with amusement, “they must be really desperate in Culat...”

“They  _ are _ ,” Glain answered, clearly agreeing with the innuendo. “They even hire sixteen-year old interns,” he sighed. “The little ones get the commonplace civilian cases so the more experienced can get their hands full of scientific pettiness. I should be getting a bit of both since I’m still a child, according to some.”

“We’re all children, Glain,” Delna echoed at that.

“And parents are always parents,” Mira added. “One day, he’ll look at himself in the mirror and see the regrets. Denek too had regrets,” she looked at Iltarel. “But he didn’t live to be forgiven. Family is more precious and more fragile than you know…”

“Can you really forgive someone who has no regrets, though?” Dayar interjected, which was approved with a  _ hm-hm _ from Enjam.

“My father certainly had no regrets in using his own children as a meat shield,” he shared with contempt, “but I personally don’t care to forgive him.” Then he glanced sidewise at Glain: “Nall is a different thing, but right now, I don’t feel like forgiving him, either,” he huffed and shook his head to himself.

“Do you not love your brother, then?” Dayar probed tryingly.

Enjam didn’t answer, mostly because he didn’t feel like being interviewed by some childish civilian not-even-a-real-man-creature.

“I was born with so much love for my father, but I think he has somehow managed to deplete it all,” Glain admitted. “I love my father, but this man, right now, that’s not him. And I’m not his child either. We’re both degenerated derivations of a past that’s forever lost to time… All that unites us is those memories, and the present cannot live up to them. Things have broken so much, and I no longer believe they can be mended…” a veil of sadness covered his eyes. “He’s just like my mother when illness took all she was. The body is still there, but the mind is no longer the same, and we belong in different realities, different lifetimes.”

“If you think he’s become mentally ill, there  _ are _ tests...” Dayar insinuated and held onto Iltarel’s hand a little. Having gone through that system himself, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the topic.

“He’s not ill,” Enjam dismissed with a hand gesture, “without careful self examination, we eventually become like our fathers, who became like their fathers before them – cold, unforgiving, manipulative and harsh. It runs in the family like poison. Yet another reason why I chose service and the family under the metal wings rather than those of the Rokat household,” he set his eyes on Teval. “I believe we have decided what the next course of action is. How would you prefer it to happen? In connection to mine and Delna’s enjoinment ritual?”

“That would be charming and efficient,” Teval smiled sweetly at the mental picture.

Delna looked at him in disapproval and Serila served her husband the same look.  _ Men. _

“Not at the  _ same time _ ,” the young woman clarified, because it was obvious that it was how Teval had read it.

“ _ First _ , the disassociations,” Serila said. “Officially, Enjam’s reason for disassociating could very well be that his brother disapproves of his and Delna’s wish to enjoin – a stubborn brother who disputes the will of Central Command  _ is _ a valid reason to wish to disassociate,” she figured it would be good to point Nall as un-Cardassian.

“My reason is that my father is enjoining his housekeeper,” Glain said in an atone voice, “and if my calculations are correct, he must have made her pregnant while my mother wasn’t even buried yet,” he shuddered. “This is… this  _ is _ very offensive to me,” he admitted.

“It is,” Serila agreed. “Enjam shall adopt you, and we shall then bring you into our family and celebrate the enjoinment ceremony on the Auspicious Day,” she smiled more fondly at Delna. “It’ll be very disor-” she winced at the word that had come, but as she tried to correct herself, she winced even more. “Sulim,” she grabbed his shoulder so firmly that pain cramped him too, “I need to go to the bathroom; help me up, will you?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Teval didn’t dispute the unfortunate timing – nor did anyone; pregnant women needed their breaks.

He got up and tried to help her, but she tensed and froze in an expression of contained pain.

“Actually, we’re going to need the  _ other _ bathroom,” she said in a raspy voice, casting a frightened silence on the assembly.

At once, Enjam’s face returned to a paler shade and he straightened up in his seat, terror dawning on him.

“I have military clearance to beam anyone out of here, in case of emergency,” he clarified, and looked around – he’d certainly have to beam Glain, Iltarel, Dayar, Delna... “Nothing is more dangerous than a woman giving birth,” he added in a more hushed voice, as if he expected Serila to tear his head off if he spoke it any louder.

“I’ll go tell the managment,” Dayar opted and disappeared in the blink of an eye – it didn’ take him long to return, announcing that the little man had offered them to use the indoors fountain if needed, and that he was ready to evacuate the building if it was truly urgent.

“We need Saima,” Serila held onto Teval’s arm with such a grip that he had to put his own energy into ignoring the crushing pressure.

“I’ll have her beamed in,” Teval huffed, trying to reach for his combracelet to pass the order.

“Do you need anyone else?” Mira bravely asked at the peril of her life.

“I think Saima will suffice,” Teval nodded.

“Alright, then let’s get out,” Mira pumped her arm. “Let’s go, boys,” she looked at the males in particular.

“I’ll go provide my assistance,” Delna slipped away, “I’m not a midwife but I’m still medically-trained,” she snipped at Enjam.

The men didn’t linger around, obediently removing themselves and passing the word that, yes, the fountain was going to be needed… At least, the personel seemed very reactive and efficient in locking out the lobby and closing off the alcove with the fountain.

 

Then, it was an awkward moment during which Glain, Iltarel and Dayar found themselves on their own, because Mira had dragged Enjam away to pass the relevant administrative calls relative to that kind of event.

The boys stood in a corridor, waiting, and for a while, they were mostly silent. Then Iltarel leaned against the wall, biting his lips, and it was clear to both his shamar and his luzzur that he was on the verge of tears. Glain held his wrist, not really daring to do more than that in Dayar’s presence.

“It’s going to be alright…” he muttered, but his words felt empty.

 

Eventually, time passed, and a very tired Delna came to them.

“How… how did it go?” Iltarel asked.

“They all live and you can go,” the young woman smiled, and the albino looked at his beloved ones before parting to join his family.

Delna looked him go and told the others: “ _ Two _ very healthy babies, identical twins it would seem,” she beamed. She didn’t mention that they were male-presenting however, in case that might make Dayar uncomfortable. “It’s a beautiful day for Cardassia. Teval however… I had to bandage his arm because we didn’t have a regenerator. He got bitten quite hard, and not just once… But he’ll live.”

“Can I go as well?” Dayar eventually asked, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to be left alone with Glain, “I mean... I never really got to see babies that much before. So...”

“I… I’d like to see too,” Glain added.

“Fine, but don’t touch them, don’t approach the mother too closely, and don’t make direct eye-contact with her,” Delna warned. “It’s still quite early…” she said and led the way.

They found Teval shirtless, getting mended by Enjam; Serila drapped in a blanket and sat in an armchair with a footrest, holding the hand of a woman who probably was Saima (and was sat directly on the armrest of the chair). Iltarel was holding one of the babies, and the other one laid in a tumble of blankets by his side on the floor.

Delna showed the boys how to approach carefully and they could join him. He was crying again, but it was happy tears this time.

“I umflong once um’ Pitir muffle,” Iltarel sort of said.

“You can’t call them all Pitir,” Glain chastized him gently and the clerk giggled although that was originally supposed to be a scolding.

“They’re so perfect…” Glain said again instead, gently touching the feet of the baby in the tumble of blankets.

Dayar stayed in the background, not wanting to get too close. He felt like he was viewing the scenery from the outside, not belonging to it himself. Even Glain was more part of the moment than he was. They were babies, and he supposed that in all logic, they must’ve been cute. He didn’t  _ feel _ anything for them, though, not like he hoped he would’ve. Still, it would’ve been rude not to smile, so he plastered on his best smile, while also speaking out of the corner of his mouth so that only the ‘Archon’ could hear him:

“ _ Glain, Delna said not to touch them. _ ”

Glain removed his hand and turned to Dayar, with a most tender and caring expression on his face. Human and alive.

“ _ You’re right, _ ” he whispered back. “ _ You’re so often right, _ ” he added in fond recognition. “ _ I want children. I very much do, _ ” he shared, although that could have sounded like an invitation to get started and have sex. He realized that only after he’d spoken and blushed a little.

“ _ Very Cardassian of you _ ,” Dayar answered in a civil manner, feeling rather detached from the entire thing. He gave Iltarel a nod when he thought he was looking, and then backed away, to eventually turn and leave, to go somewhere where he’d feel less cornered by his own strange lack of affection. What was wrong with him?

“Fishmilk?” came a voice behind him, and there stood Mira, holding three goblets of the beverage. She looked tired. “Please, take one and sit a while with me…” she required in a sigh, “I don’t want to get there yet, and I can tell you share that feeling.”

Dayar accepted the offer without a word, and took one of the goblets.

“It’s a very happy moment,” he assured her, “a very Cardassian moment. I’m glad it went well,” he smiled a bit. He wanted to ask why she felt that way, but also wasn’t sure whether it’d make for a very orderly conversation.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I’m just an instrument maker, boy; you don’t need to play pretend with me,” she sipped on one of her goblets. “It’s alienating to see them. They’re so happy. How good for them… It would be convenient to be happy too, but… They’re not my blood,” she shook her head. “And not my class either. Things don’t click so easily between civilians and militaries,” she pinched her lips. “It doesn’t feel like it did with my grandchildren… Ah, but I should love Iltarel’s at first time, if he ever gets any,” she observed Dayar from the corner of her eyes.

Dayar absorbed the nag for what it was, and tried not to wilt too much over his cup.

“That is... very likely,” he told with a passing smile, “I’m highly fertile, so, it’s not like there’s going to be any problems,” he reassured her and twiddled the ear of the goblet with his thumb. “I hope I won’t feel as empty then,” he added with a grimace, “Children deserve to be wanted and to be loved.”

“They very much do,” Mira patted his back comfortingly. “And being pregnant is a strange thing too. It does things to the body and to the mind; it’s a bit like being drunk sometimes, and I’m still not sure if I liked it or not. It’s not a most romantic experience, but it’s rather unique still… There are those of us who can get that, and those who don’t. I think you’re rather gifted to have access to this experience, even if it’s a bit dreadful. It’s a fight, that’s what it is. And it doesn’t matter if we’re man or woman when it comes down to it,” she patted his lap. “But do you want children? That’s the question, because if you don’t, then I’m not sure what it matters how fertile you are. Fertility isn’t what makes us want children to have and to love, lest all those infertile people wouldn’t be bemoaning over their incapability to procreate.”

“Iltarel wants children,” Dayar answered evasively, “It doesn’t matter what I want, as long as what I want is for the best of the State. And children with him is just that,” he sent a look in the direction of the other room. “I wouldn’t enjoin him if I wasn’t willing to do these things for him.”

“Ah, sweetscale…” Mira sighed, passing her arm in his back again, “these are brave words… As brave as they are worrisome,” she rubbed his clothes. “You make him happy, and that makes me glad. But tell me, how do you see the future with children? With your fertility and the Jarads’ combined, you could very well end up with twins too.”

“How fortunate,” Dayar’s voice didn’t tell much about how he felt. “Then maybe I won’t have to be pregnant as many times, if it’s multiple ones each time,” he swirled the milk and looked into it. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I can’t tell what the future will be like.”

“No one can, but we can support each other, and sometimes that’s what being Cardassian is all about. You and Glain, you don’t have an easy time trusting anyone, do you? Please, if you ever need help, support… do better than him and reach out to us,” she gave him a sweet, motherly smile.

Dayar nodded in silence and took a deep breath.

“This family is a very good one,” he said, “Glain won’t regret joining into it.”

“And what about you? You might just join into it too,” she hinted. “Or do you plan on robbing Iltarel away?”

“I’d rather enjoin out of my family than join someone into it,” Dayar told cryptically, “but if you’d rather I robbed him away, I could do that as well,” he smiled and allowed himself some cheek.

That deserved him a pinch on said cheek.

“You little slippery eel, I may not be an interrogator or anything such, but you’re trying to avoid answering to my question,” she exposed him. “You’re scared of enjoinment, aren’t you? Because of what that means for you, for your body,” she gestured with her cup of fishmilk and drunk some more of it.

Dayar rubbed his cheek with thinned eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it, at least not in such a happy moment as this. It’s going to happen anyway,” he waved his left hand a little, “once I turn thirty. So, it’s not like refraining from enjoinment would prevent it.”

“Well, if you ever want to talk about it on another day…” Mira didn’t press him too much. “It’s fine. It’s fine, boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hop to the next chapter, comments are welcome, so don't hesitate to leave a few words! (copy-pasting lines you like is also fine!)


	46. Golden wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that International Fanwork Day (feb 15) was a good day to post the three final chapters of this fanfic.

#  Golden wings

And so all was done as Serila had said. Enjam and Glain made their disassociation requests and Enjam adopted his nephew. It was a strange but warm moment concluded by a long hug, because Glain wouldn’t have it any other way. They had made it so, by right of the State, their bond as uncle and nephew was preserved, and the two of them made for a thin family of two, for the time being. It’d taken some doing to bring up the right texts, but with Delna and Sleen’s help, everything had gone smoothly.

No, Glain wouldn’t get to call Enjam  _ jadik _ , and even him relieved in that.

 

During his time in Lakat, Glain took the time to gather his things from the Rokat family home, assisted by Sleen and Maten. He took along the main computer of the holographic projector, replacing the contents by those of a holographic camera hooked onto the house’s main computer and rerooted functions so that the trick should be hard to notice – records could still be taken and played; they would only be a bit more ...limited.

The young man had the time to go back and forth between Culat and Lakat a few times, between work and personal errands. The date had been set for Delna and Enjam’s ceremony, and since it would take place on Gul Meret’s ship, and because Enjam would have it no other way than to stand there in armor, Delna had decided that all the guests were to wear their work apparel too. She, herself, had Enjam buy her a tailored dress fit to wear at work.

When came the time for all guests to be beamed aboard the ship, Glain showed up in adjusted Archon robes, fit for moving around smoothly and for dancing – the justice fashion in Culat was thankfully more practical than in Lakat, bearing refinement in the materials more than in the ostentatious amount of fabric.

The atmosphere on the bridge of Gul Meret’s ship was light, and the militaries present mingled with the visitors, intrigued by the many roles they were of. The longest serving ones were most grateful for this moment to have come, while the younger and newer faces found most of their entertainment in social banter. One of those younger officers had found Elem, who had arrived ahead of Sokal, and when she entered the bridge, it was in close proximity to him, laughing about a joke he’d just made about plasma circuits.

 

Another of them had found Glain, and because she was a rarity as a female soldier, she much appreciated seeing a rarity amongst Archons.

“It looks really good on you, that robe,” she flattered him with a dark, smooth voice as she sidled up next to him, “You are His Ro... hm, His Jarad’s nephew, right?” she shook her head and waved her free hand around, the other one setting easily in Glain’s back, “I feel like half the people in this room are called Jarad!”

Glain chuckled pleasantly at that, indulging in the indecent gesture as he often did with Najal, and flashed a most charming smile.

“You know something shameful? It’s that my uncle is so secretive about his work that he’s never mentioned you – what a sin,” he flattered her, studying her with appreciation. “What’s your name, and what is it you do here? A woman among the stars, that can only pick my curiosity,” he grinned something delicately predatory.

“Oh, names,” she made a  _ pff _ sound and a discarding hand motion to go with it, “Names are really confusing these days, to all of us. I’m new aboard,” she guided Glain over to her work station, to show him more of what she did: “I acquire targets and plan attack patterns. Meret will resign at the end of the year, and because neither of his glinns are particularly eager to become guls, with both of them rooting for the other one to take the seat, I have a unique chance to get it for myself,” she smiled deviously and leaned sidewise on the table, looking the Archon over. “I disassociated from my husband three months ago: it was found out that I was infertile. Not the worst thing that could’ve happened; he was a terribly boring man once those years at the Institute ended. Now, I might get a ship of my own, and I’m surrounded by men worthy to be called my equals... I’d call it an excellent trade, even if that makes me un-Cardassian. Tell me, how would the Archon rule me, hm?”

“As a good servant of the State,” Glain’s eyes gleamed. “Ambitious, are you?” he raised an eyeridge. “That’s all very good. The military does need fresh blood to stir new courses, and with two seasoned glinns to counsel you with their experience, I have good faith that this can be… most interesting. I really thought that Temet would succeed to Meret, though,” he seeked to see if she was jokingly trying to make a fool out of him, or serious.

She hummed in agreement to that.

“You never know until you know, nephew of Enjam,” she told him in confidence.

“For all you don’t say, you stir my curiosity, un-wife of a once-lucky man,” Glain replied. “So, tell me, are there targets around us that needs to be shot?” he challenged.

“Now, I think  _ that _ would ruin poor Enjam’s enjoinment ritual, or at the very least, it would upset his wife,” she looked around the room, and fastened her eyes on Elem and the young officer joking with her:  “Those two are being quite disorderly. I wouldn’t shoot them, but maybe shoo them, a little,” she smirked, “but then, I don’t blame her. Edrak does have quite the tongue.”

Glain half-grinned, half-chuckled, then looked at her again: “And what about me? Not worth a shot?” he asked more cheekily even.

Amidst flirtatious talk, he did wonder if he had his chances with the woman, which was all entirely a most stupid thing to endeavour, but then, Glain was a man of curiosity and novelty. The banter continued for a while, until he caught sight of Sleen, who was approaching at a rather fast pace.

“Ah, the matchmaker!” Glain welcomed him.

“Glain,” Sleen served him a scolding smirk before paying respectful greetings to the officer. “I heard you came along with friends from Culat? Were you planning on introducing me to them or were you a little too focused on daring but hopeless kotra moves?”

The Archon gave him a dramatic look of offense.

“You wound me! If a man can no longer speak innocently with a woman, these days…”

“Talk all you want, but do so  _ after _ I’m started talking with your friends,” he reiterated his request, and Glain had to sorrowfully apologize for the interruption to his female comrade, so to guide his friend through the crowd to find Esmil and Leyour.

The former was found sooner than the latter – their relation hadn’t yet recovered from Esmil’s endeavour with Glain, and Leyour had gratefully found himself claimed by Glinn Temet, who was telling him everything and more about Meret’s long going dreads regarding Enjam’s sexual orientation.

Esmil, on his behalf, had found entertainment in one of the very young recruits, leaning against him with confidence. As Glain approached with Sleen, he’d even leaned close to whisper something disorderly into the man’s ear, causing him to choke on his drink and blush vividly.

“My goodness, Esmil, are you bothering the interns?” Glain chastized him. “My dear Institute friend here wanted to get acquainted with you – he’s a man of vesala and the talented spirit to whom we owe my uncle’s joining with Delna,” he grinned. “Esmil Lekat, this is His Sleen Kerat.”

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” Sleen smiled with unusual warmth, Glain realized. “I believe my father knew your parents quite well before he enjoined my mother.”

Sleen did have quite some neck, in most every sense of the word. Esmil smiled just as brilliantly at that, giving his pet intern a squeeze around the shoulders, and nodded to Sleen.

“And this is Arim Dekor, intern of... where was it again?” he looked at his blushed companion.

“Bamarren,” he mumbled in a hardly audible voice.

“Precious, isn’t he?” he squeezed him with his arm again and, looked Sleen over, “My parents, you say? Why, it’s certainly not impossible – although, I am sorry to say that I lost contact with them long ago.”

“Such things happen,” Sleen reckoned. “My father lost contact with his family, I think, after they’d found out that he’d managed to attend Sidjartan instead of Bamarren – he spent nine years living the grand life, just a Sector away from home, without anyone knowing, and disassociated before they might void his somewhat illegal studies,” he chuckled a bit.

“I didn’t know your father was such a scoundrel!” Glain exclaimed in complete fascination. “How even did he pull that off?”

“Some people, sweet Glain, are very brilliant from a very young age,” Sleen teased him. “I thought you’d know that,” he added more playfully, then landed his gaze on the embarrassed teenager. “And so this is one who truly goes through Bamarren… Ah, what a delight to see one of our young elites…” he murmured with a most soft voice.

“We are blessed to have them among us,” Esmil beamed and let the poor intern go, stroking the exposed part of his neck ‘on accident’ in the same move, “and such a well-natured one at that. And then there’s the two of you,” he continued with a smile, “just as well-behaved, and quite appealing in both mind and visage... Tell me, do you get to attend the weddings of those you bring together every time, or is this a special occasion I should revere in my memory for its uniqueness?”

“It’s quite unique, I’m afraid,” Sleen sighed dramatically, “I’m often quite taken by my job and don’t get to celebrate so much. But I’m certain it could get even more unique,” he grinned with his eyes in that way that even Glain never was sure if it was meant as a joke or literal invitation.

“I’m social services,” Sleen explained and corrected Sleen’s collar although that wasn’t necessary. “And you, Your Lekat?” he asked, while the Archon watched, parted in outrage and admiration.

“I work for the Ministry of Justice in Culat, I’m a secretery there,” Esmil sung along with a different kind of sigh. “I’m the one who managed to find Glain his new employer. I fully believe he’ll work the robe just as well as he wears it – if not, I’ll find the most graceful way to disrobe him.”

Glain snorted at that and Sleen bit his lip to repress his own chuckle.

“I’ll trust your good judgement – these are notions I might have fancied myself,” Sleen revealed with a sidewise look at Glain, whose interest was piqued even moreso now than before. “Why that look?” Sleen added, “We never know when you’ll next be put under sexual quarantaine by some relative of yours, and I hear you’re on the lookout for joining too. Would you fault anyone for wanting a taste of the harvest before it spoils?”

“I never knew,” Glain confessed, pupils too dilated to deny any interest.

“That’s how it is with the bright and observant; there’s always the details we miss in the end,” Sleen sighed. “And the funniest yet,” he added to Esmil, “is that he still doesn’t know half of what he might be getting himself into, and that makes it all the more delightful, doesn’t it?” he grinned at his un-cousin.

“Does anyone ever truly know what they’re getting themselves into?” Esmil asked, his arm back around the intern’s neck, since the young thing hadn’t escaped yet. “Do you know a place where things could get into safely aboard here?” he asked innocently, then leaned closer and whispered something in the other’s ear, deliberately teasing his lips over the jaw scales.

“There’s the cargo bay, it’s empty for the moment being,” came the answer.

“Ah, the cargo bay…” Glain’s gaze dulled for a moment. “My last transit in such places was ...a different kind of adventure,” he recalled and shivered, as if cold with biting his scales off. “Such unfortunate memories deserved to be replaced by something warmer, something more Cardassian, hm…? And I would so love to see more of my uncle’s ship,” he cupped the intern’s face. “Shall you take us there, Arim Dekor?” he asked, eyelids fluttering and lips slightly parted in anticipation.

Crystal blue eyes invaded by darkness blinked back at Glain, before drawing back with a strangled sound, looking between the three men he was with.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed, a bit of a shiver making it into his voice.

“You’re welcome to reject the invitation if you wish,” Esmil made sure to make clear, but was met with a headshake.

“No, I can take care of myself,” Dekor bravely answered, “I know what I’m doing.” Esmil, who doubted that display of confidence, still nodded.

“That pleases me,” he cooed sweetly, “we should get going now, there’s no telling how it’ll be  _ after _ the ceremony has ended.”

Glain chuckled at that and the three men followed the teen boy. Oh, well, he was grown-up enough, and they could pretend he was closer to nineteen than seventeen – for Glain and Sleen, those years weren’t long ago.

 

The cargo bay was warm enough, and rather crowded, but if one knew their way through the labyrinth of crates and containers, four could reach a secluded hideout littered with some blankets and a few PADDs, one of which had a holographic display, as Glain identified in a blink. It was all too easy to guess what kind of things went on there, although the civilians could appreciate that the place wasn’t actually filthy.

“Have you laid with men before?” Glain asked Arim while helping him to unbuckle his gear.

“He has,” answered Esmil over the edge of the intern’s shoulder, breathing against his ear, “he told me,” he added with a smirk, “didn’t you?” – there wasn’t an answer to that, other than a furious blush and a cleared throat. “You smell good...” he teased further. “He’s experimented with his friends at the Institute, I had  _ almost _ gotten him to name their designations when you and Sleen came by, and now...” he grinned and nuzzled the young soldier’s cheek, “now we’ll see to teach him properly, experts that we are.”

“I was fourteen when the Night taught me those things,” Glain murmured against the back of the youth’s neck. “And you, Sleen?” he eyed at his friend, who was down his knees to remove the young man’s boots.

“Oh, Five… I was still Nine Lidek then,” he shook his head. “First Level. I won’t give the name, but it was with a docent. That was  _ most _ disorderly, and I knew it: he told me just how disorderly it was,” he hummed pleasantly: “The grooming type.”

“That is way too young,” Esmil disapproved while stroking Dekor’s neck, nearly covering his ears at the disorderly story, and avoiding to tell how he had come to experience anything such as sexuality and with  _ whom _ . “I didn’t go to an Institute,” he hummed, “seems it was fortunate that I didn’t. Who knows what kind of depraved pervert it would’ve turned me into?”

Sleen laughed quite brightly at that.

“Give it to the man hitting on boys ten years younger than him to lecture about age,” he pointed without venom.

“Rather,” Glain breathed against sensitive nerves of Dekor’s nape, “tell us what you’d like to get good at, sexually, and I’ll demonstrate on my sweet friend. I’m sure Esmil will be all up for letting you practice with him…”

“Very observant of you, Glain,” Esmil appreciated and set his hands at Dekor’s hips.

“I- I- I don’t know the words, really,” the Intern stuttered while Esmil rubbed his fingers along the sensitive ridges leading down to his crotch, almost like an arrow.

“You were making things up on the go, weren’t you?” he purred in the other’s ear.

“I’d like to know how to do that thing with the, um, the tongue?” Dekor awkwardly asked.

“There are so many things to do with the tongue…” Glain murmured and licked his scales, “neckjobs with the tongue are quite delicious,” he said and moved away.

Sleen got up and found himself pinned to the wall by his hungry friend.

“Kisses,” Glain purred and went for the young man’s mouth, licking, nipping, invading in slow motion. He extended his work to the jaws and the neck, drawing hurried gasps out of Sleen’s throat.

The social worker pulled at his collar to expose more neck, and Glain indulged him, eyeing at the boy every now and then. Then, he dropped to his knees and teased the fabric of Sleen’s pants.

“Oh, Glain, get on with it,” the young man gulped while struggling to down his pants. His friend was amused and helped him.

“I leave you to explain the words, Esmil,” the Archon smirked at the erection offered to him and started to treat it, gentle and slow. “Gracious State…” he muttered, “I ignored you had such a nice dick…”

“A good asset in my line of work,” Sleen replied hoarsely, caressing the other’s hair, digging his fingers in the soft curls.

“That must be one of the most disorderly things I’ve seen in my entire life!” exclaimed Esmil without concealing his joy in the slightest: “An Archon and a Social Worker – it sounds like one of those forbidden pornographic holonovels,” he dug his fingertips into the intern’s hips. “Would you like to do as he did, or have it done to you?” he thought he’d ask, because after all, both were possible goals.

There wasn’t an answer to that, only movement. Esmil was taken by surprise by the agility and strength of the much younger man – truly, this was a student of Bamarren, and one of the best. Underneath all that insecurity, laid a baseline of control.

The kisses took the breath out of the secretary, and the tender attention to his neck caused his crotch to ache with desire, and once  _ that _ was freed, it was as if the boy had been a master already, luring squirms and gasps from his elder with ease. He indulged him a while, then came up again, treating him with a hand instead, kissing his chest, his neck, his lips. At last, their cocks were slick against each other, a hot friction of wet hardness.

“You like what you see, Sleen…” Glain couldn’t help but notice, in between teasing licks. He could tell that his lover had restrain, a restrain most challenged still.

“All of this, it’s… it’s truly very disorderly…” Sleen answered quite pitifully.

“That’s the beauty of it,” the Archon hummed. “You want to take me? Lift my robes up my ass and take it?” he proposed shamelessly.

For all answer, Sleen got going, positioning his friend on the ground, standing on all four with his delightfully rounded butt candidly exposed. He penetrated him gently and started moving while looking at the others. Glain grinned to himself. Somehow, he could almost feel his lover’s gaze on Esmil’s cock, and there was something very… enthusing about that notion. Getting fucked by Sleen was good and he let himself purr and moan in rythm with his friend.

Meanwhile, Arim Dekor was proving to be a rather expert lover, one that Esmil didn’t have any qualms submitting to. Standing against the wall, it wasn’t long before he’d laid one leg around the other’s hips to allow for easier entrance. The rythm was good, and Dekor’s neck smelled like hormonal young man, a scent that Esmil could get  _ high _ on.

“You smell so musky,” he whimpered into the other’s neck, fingers grabbing all over his back, “it’s so good...!” He would’ve rambled even more, if it hadn’t been for lips claiming him into silence, and once they parted, his partner made a growl-like sound, biting at his lower lip.

“You’ll be silent,” he told him frankly, which was in no way a turnoff.

It was surprisingly difficult to stay silent, and Esmil found himself whimpering every time he’d meant to say something, which was met with punishment in the form of harder thrusts, which were admittedly rather painful, and didn’t exactly shut him off from further whining – “You’ve teased me ever since you boarded, I think it’s my turn,” Dekor hissed in his ear, his voice so low that the other two couldn’t possibly hear him, “I don’t care if you’re my elder and in a position that grants you more knowledge: you are mine, and you can’t escape what I’m doing to you, because I’m stronger, I’m faster and tougher, too –” Esmil felt the other’s grin at his cheek, thinking to himself that this could’ve been very intimidating, if it hadn’t been so hot.

He opened his mouth to answer something, and instantly got a painful thrust for his effort – he still wasn’t allowed to talk. He didn’t mind.

 

And that was how it continued – words spoken sometimes, threats made like they were commonplace. And when eventually Dekor came, it was explosive and rough, with a bite down in his elder’s neck. Esmil nearly bit himself in the tongue to hold back a shrill should of surprise and pain, smacking the back of his skull against the wall in response.

Then, Dekor slid out of him, and down on the floor, starting to tend his lover’s cock with his mouth, his eyes telling him to keep silent – something he did, because he didn’t much want his dick to get bitten, too. At last, those eyes commanded him to cum, and he obliged – not that it was difficult to do so at that stage.

“We are going to need a shower,” Dekor mumbled at last, wiping his face with one of the stray blankets.

That was a statement Glain and Sleen wholeheartedly agreed with. The Archon’s ass was more than full of cum, as the enthusing show and activities had brought his friend to climax twice, and it was also marked with nail imprints. His back too bore some scratches and bruises, the kind of abuse Glain had learned to enjoy, the kind of abuse he sometimes needed too. Sleen wasn’t expert in those things, but when his friend had asked him to, he’d done his best to satisfy him.

A bit strange, he reckoned, but social services were trained in non-judgmentality. What had truly mattered was to avoid staining those beautiful Archon robes, because  _ that _ , if anything, would have been disastrous.

“So far, that’s the best enjoinment ceremony I’ve attended,” Glain noted and winced as Sleen helped him up his feet. “Sure does make up for the last one…” he hummed hazily as all cleaned themselves a minimum and picked up their clothes before making their way to the showers.

 

Showering was a good way to retain to a more civil level of communication. The intern went back to being an awkward intern, his sexual persona seemingly somewhat severed from the rest of him, and Esmil, turned into a shameful shadow of himself, finally apologizing for teasing him through the entire reception, excusing himself with “but you were so cute, though”, which hardly gained him any favour.

As they exited, however, they were met by a pair of eyes that caried a different level of disdain and settled on Glain.

“You’re sleeping someplace else tonight,” Luyeour flatly told him, “I’m going home. I can’t go back in there after all of that.”

“But Leyour!” Glain bemoaned in indignation, hurrying him after him, “It’s an enjoinment ceremony; this was nothing out of order,” he justified in a way that only queer people could justify. “And Sleen is a long-time friend of mine,” he added, trying to wrap an arm around the medical secretary. “Please, sweetheart…”

Luyeour swatted at Glain’s hands, but found himself captured and twirled around to face him.

“And what is Esmil? And him?” he gestured to the intern, “And what makes me different from them?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious,” Glain winced sweetly. “I have sex with them, and I don’t with you, but I’m not sweet to them the way I am with you,” he caressed his lover’s face, making a cute, apologetic face. “You’re my wife,” he summed up with a cheekiness that was only honest. “I think we do good together when you’re not salty over my sex life.”

Luyeour wanted to smack Glain, but didn’t want to cause that much of a scene.

“You’re the one who was concerned for your sex life,” he remarked acidly and tried to get out of Glain’s grip again, “you wanted to know me first, I wanted to give you a chance – meanwhile, you’re off not caring to know anyone else before going to bed with them. But not me,” he clenched his jaws. “You had sex with Esmil in my flat. I... pretended not to have noticed, because I didn’t want to argue, because deep down, I knew this would be what happened, no matter what I’d say. And he’s been taunting me about it, boasting about it, as if he doesn’t know – I’m tired of waiting, while you just don’t seem to care. Not even Emyr would’ve left me out like this, and you know what  _ he _ did to me.”

Glain got more serious at that and waved at the others to go. Sleen gave his friend a tap on the shoulder and followed the rest.

“You’re right, I  _ do _ know what he did to you,” Glain cupped the scientist’s face, looking into his eyes with patient fondness. “Yes, we nearly did it, and yes, I changed my mind. Because it wasn’t me. I was playing a role, a fake persona, and I wanted to be the one to have sex with you. I wanted it to be real… And when I felt ready, the next day, you didn’t want and I felt bad for trying to press that on you… And ever since… Sweetheart… I don’t want to be a rapist. I don’t want to be abusive with you in whatsoever way. And I’m sorry I broke my promise, I… I was weak. I know we should have at least gone to his place, but… No, there’s no justification to be had,” he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I like you. I like what’s between us when we’re not arguing, and I think the arguments are worth it too. I like you, Leyour,” he smiled softly.

“I don’t want to have a relationship with another sex addict,” Luyeour caught Glain’s eyes with his own, “especially not one who won’t even have sex with me, and who makes up all these ridicolous excuses to cover up for the fact. You asked me to respect you because of the problem you said you had – that is not the kind of problem that goes away  _ over one night _ . And now... on your own uncle’s enjoinment ceremony? I wish I had not come, I’ve rarely felt so humiliated,” he got out of the other’s grip at last, backing away. “And you can tell Esmil that I don’t want to be luzzurs anymore, either.”

“Oh, snap out of it,” Glain caught him and dragged him close again. “ _ You _ are the one who don’t want to have sex with me,” he thought to remind him. “I’m the one waiting,” he cornered him more dominantly against the wall. “If truly you want it, come in there with me and I’ll do you,” he gestured at the shower’s door. “I can recite the enjoinment rites too while we’re at it if you’d like, since it’s an enjoinment day indeed,” he added with a bit of provocative venom. “But if you just want to retrieve your freedom, then tell me already.”

“So you’re going to fuck me like an afterthought?” Luyeour argued hotly against the admittably rather attractive sight Glain was posing, “In  _ the showers _ , like I’m a cheap, unregistered comfort worker in the slummier areas of Torr? – of course I want you!” he dug his fingers in Glain’s clothes, “But is it at all going to be good for you? I wanted to wait until you were no longer using sex as a form of self-harm, and I wanted you to commit to that, like you said you would – you said you wanted to recover, Glain. Was it a lie?” he asked the question that had been gnawing at him for so long. “Did you make that up just to mess with me?”

“Of course not! But that was before I got thrown out of my birth family!” Glain hotly replied. “It’s not- it’s  _ no longer _ self-harm, my sweet. I’m reclaiming myself, my mind, that body that got sullied by the insanity my un-father’s put me through. I’m  _ living my life _ , Leyour. Do you want to be part of it?” he asked seriously.

“Getting disowned poses every reason as to why someone would indulge in sex for comfort,” Luyeour sniped without mercy, “How can you be certain you’re not trying to fill that hole in your life-” he fought a smile at the unintentional misslip of the tongue, “fuck off,” he warned Glain, in case he was going to start laughing as well – “I mean- I don’t want to be part of your life if you’re going to... to, yeah.” It was getting more and more difficult not to laugh.

Glain too was trying to stay serious, but the more they tried not to laugh, the harder it became, and control slipped out in snorts before bursting out more frankly, spiralling onto itself and mutual echoes.

“Oh, fu-” Glain tried to swear and choked a bit on his laughter, “Fuck my un-father, fuck my un-family!” he coughed in laughter and dragged Leyour closer. “I… I know it’s hard to figure it all out,” he cleared his voice, “But if that’s just making you miserable, I’d rather we have sex, or we’ll be two to be miserable: you because you’re not getting any, and I because you’re antsy. Also I don’t want you to discard Esmil just like that because of me. I mean, he’s a bit of an ass sometimes, but he gets what he deserves. I wish you’d seen how that intern boy shut him up and fucked him rough,” he laughed. “Militaries, they’re a different breed…” he shook his head.

“I did see it,” Luyeour thought he’d let Glain know, “I’ve been following you ever since I saw the four of you slink away. And for a moment, I thought maybe I should make myself known, but... you didn’t need a fifth,” he gulped and eyed Glain sidewise. “It’s not just about the sex, Glain. It’s difficult to explain. I have to admit I don’t know how to describe it myself, but I want you to trust me.”

“If anything,  _ that _ reassures me,” Glain smiled and took his hand in his own, holding it like lovers do. “I think I love you,” he resolved to say. “Not like a shamar, maybe, but not like a friend either,” he squeezed his hand a little. “I’d like to call you luzzur, but that means I have to trust you and… would you believe that I  _ can _ do that?” he raised an eyeridge. “And can you trust me back?”

There was nothing quite like getting told someone  _ loves you _ , just to have them minimize it the moment later.

“Glain, you are a disaster,” Luyeour commented with a headshake, “What if I loved you more than luzzurs? Then you would’ve broken my heart with the way you said that,” he contemplated if this was the case, realized he did indeed feel a bit hurt, but that he was still happy enough to call Glain luzzur. “I’ll try to trust you, as long as you don’t have sex with Esmil in my flat.”

Glain felt quite warm at than, which showed on his face and in his smile.

“I promise that won’t ever happen again –” he interrupted himself to kiss the other’s mouth – “ _ luzzur _ ,” he murmured as the kiss ended.

He felt giddy, and the giddiness made him blush. Just as eager was Luyeour, but as they got into the shower room, he stopped Glain from undressing.

“I’d rather you kept it on,” he said factually, “you are radiant today. I want some of that.”

“Radiant?” Glain gave an alarmed look to the mirrors, getting to see that his hair had started to curl wildly again, “I think you were more correct before when you said I’m a disaster. But I guess I might be both. A radiant disaster, yes. That sounds accurate,” he sighed and picked his comb to try and tame his wild accents by reflex. “I know, I have a hair obsession,” he winced before painfully stopping himself. “That’ll have to do,” he gave his luzzur a weak smile, knowing he was due for regular combing anyway.

Luyeour leaned against the wall and tugged at Glain’s wrists.

“And now?” he asked sweetly, “Do you like my clothes, or should I take them off for you?”

“Keep them; you look so proper and science is sexy,” Glain leaned forth for a kiss.

It didn’t stop at just a kiss, of course. Fingers ran on those proper clothes, and whispers ran against the neck.

“Tell me about medical statistics while I caress you… Tell me of your researches, my sweet and bright Leyour…” he murmured. Statistics weren’t a turn on for everybody, but Glain wasn’t everybody.

“Wh-what?” Luyeour burst in complete confusion.

“It’s more about the way you talk,” Glain caressed the silky lips. “But if that deters your concentration too much, that’s fine,” he hummed softly.

Luyeour nuzzled back and couldn’t help but to giggle.

“ _ You _ are what’s distracting, rather,” he kissed him back and held him, arms wrapping him close with greed. “I want you to be in me – in my lungs, my mouth, my ass and my thoughts, too,” he inhaled the other’s scent and purred, “but if you really want statistics, I could count the scales on your neck, see if they’re average in number for a male your age – there are  _ theories _ on the number of neckscales posessed by a healthy young man, many of them contradictory. Would you care to hear them?”

“Oh, yes, please, please indulge me in that poison,” Glain answered hurriedly, half-amused, half-ravenous, which was an odd mix but a pleasant one at that. “I’m getting aroused again already,” he admitted while sniffing the other’s neck in a rather needy way. “Come here,” he dragged him toward the sinks, which were spaced generously enough that one could fit in between them, and he placed Luyeour to sit there.

“I’ll suck you and I’ll fuck you, and you’ll get to look at us in the mirrors,” he glanced right and left to he reflective panels on the sides of that space and behind Luyeour.

He didn’t open his lover’s pants at once however, teasing him first with hot kisses all around his groin and laps.

Luyeour looked down at Glain through half-closed eyes, lacing his fingers in his hair, freeing it to its natural disorderliness. Counting silently to himself, breath lost several times, he reached a conclusive number for Glain’s scales and groaned at that.

“You have smaller scales than average, and very well-defined, therefore you also have more of them than is usual for a male, which might either indicate a leaning toward a more... feminine inclination, gender inbreeding sometimes, sensitivity, and a lower threshhold to pain than others. But,” he wet his lower lip and moved his hips, getting wet in his underwear, “it could also mean that you’re  _ more _ masculine, since plentiful scales sometimes have a direct connection to the prevalence of oleosterone production. And if that is the case, it means you’re more likely than average to be fertile, to sire many fertile male offspring, but also a higher prevalence of fertile females. And there are some that say it also speaks of heightened sexuality and ah... a need to keep many mates.”

It was most delightful, Glain thought, to be studied and diagnosed like this, while doing such disorderly things. Through the discourse, he freed Leyour’s eraction, starting to suckle on it while listening about the oleosterone part. If anything, the words he heard made him all the thirstier and needier.

“I know I do have a low level of testosterone,” he shared. “I was treated during puberty, as an attempt to cure my sexual orientation,” he told in between licks and caresses. “It didn’t work, as it would seem… It did harden my scales then however, and robbed me of my ...succulent, rounded ass,” he grinned and suckled on Leyour’s tip. “Is a low rate of testosterone any problem in regards to good fertility and healthy offspring, or is that tied only to oleosterone?” he wondered.

“Fertility has nothing to do with either, as far as I can tell. They used to think it was tied with testosterone, but it turns out to be more complicated than that – oleosterone has more to do with sex drive,” Luyeour adjusted his legs over Glain’s shoulders a bit and gasped, looking idly to the side to observe the reflection in the mirror, running fingers through the other’s mane. “Testosterone ties in with mental abilities. Females are more technically-inclined due to this, because they ah, aren’t distracted by other drives so much,” he groaned and grabbed harder at Glain’s hair trying to press himself against him.

Following the movement, the young Archon let his lover fill his mouth with his cock. For a moment, they just abandoned themselves to the blowjob, and Glain pulled down Luyeour’s pants some more.

“Get down,” he required in a hoarse voice, positioning him in front of one of the sinks.

He opened his robes, lowered his own pants enough to give comfortable way to his erection, and bent his partner over the sink, parted his buttcheeks and pressed himself between them, squeezing in the tight hole there. Luyeour bit himself in the hand to keep discrete. The beginning was always the hardest for him, and he was grateful that Glain was being as tender as he was. When eventually the actual fucking got started, it was slow and rather relaxing.

“Ha…” a moan escaped him, then another as he grabbed his lover’s hips and started to move. “I’m really, really good at programming, you know that?” he groaned as he moved. “So, that makes me female-minded?” he snorted, amused at the notion – there he was, a female-minded boy in Archon robes, fucking another man’s ass. What was gender even?

“Maybe?” Luyeour fired Glain a cheeky smile through the reflection of the mirror – watching himself get done was really sweet. “I mean, science is supposed to be female-minded topics too, so that makes the both of us into women. At any rate, I believe either of us would likely have really talented daughters.”

Glain chuckled sweetly at that: “A pity we can’t procreate with one another,” he jested, although the regret bore something genuine to it, “these would be very pretty daughters too, I believe,” he mused and leaned to kiss his lover’s neck. “You’re very beautiful, you know that? So delicate, so smart, so honest and sharp,” he praised him with soft kisses to go along with it. “I feel good with you…” he said and licked those delicate scales. “Have you counted your own scales?” he asked indecently.

“Maybe you should count them...” Luyeour suggested with a hoarse breath, “with your tongue...” he added with a smirk, “find out if I’m a man or a woman, fertile or infertile, sweet or dangerous...”

Glain couldn’t help a surprised giggle at the daring challenge.

“Let’s see, let’s see…” he hummed and started the exercise, which wasn’t easy to do, especially while rocking back and forth. “Ah, I’ve lost count…” he lamented halfway over Luyeour’s right neck ridge, “I’ll start over,” he grinned and teased him some more.

It took him a few tries to reach the nape of the neck, where he took to moaning while kissing the other side.

“Oh, Leyour… oh, I think you’re very fertile, yes, and very sweet. Very harmless,” he purred and licked the shape of a scale that tasted especially good. “Oh…” he held his breath, then teased him some more with his lingual work, and again: “Oh… I think. I think you’re a woman, Leyour,” he announced with a bit of teasing, fake surprise. “Hm, yes, a very pretty woman, very smart, very fit for sexual activities,” he pounded him some more, moaning and praising him for being such a very, very perfect woman, with such a good neck, and such a good dick too. “Ah! Yes, yes!” he got enthused by his own disorderly words, “What a criminal woman you are, trying to pass as a man,” he scolded his lover, “I’ll have to add that to your records, I-” he lost his breath for a second and his eyes went wide. He gasped. “Cum. Cum for me,” he ordered as he felt himself pulsating in his luzzur’s ass.

Hand wrapped around Luyeour’s cock, he helped him in the endeavour. The sink in front of them was ready to receive a tribute it never asked for, and the world was misty and intense.

Once Luyeour came back to his senses, he took a deep breath and shook his head.

“That was... really good-” he commented at last, looking up at Glain in the mirror, “-luzzur.”

Glain purred as he kissed his lover’s neck again, catching his breath.

“Luzzur…” he returned the title with a heave of appeasement. “I agree, that was really good. Very disorderly too…” he reckoned and giggled, then warned him before removing himself from him.

“Oh my…” he held himself to both Leyour and the counter, looking at them both in the mirror, “I’m spent! And a bit dizzy,” he laughed happily. “You make me happy,” he smiled sweetly and moved to kiss the other.

He’d barely laid his lips on his that a voice announced in the loudspeakers that the enjoinment ceremony was due to begin.

“Oh, molt and scales,” Glain muttered. They needed to get moving.

##  * * *

The ceremony had already started when Glain and Luyeour joined the bridge, and the delay wasn’t as unnoticed as Glain had hoped. Yet, nobody reacted on the moment, so not to disturb the rites, which Gul Meret was celebrating most eloquently.

Enjam removed Delna’s jeweled bone brooch and handed it over to her mother, before passing onto her the glass-blower cane of the Jarad family, which Teval had been bearing for him. It was all very elegant, and they shared a chaste nose kiss at last, chufa against chufa, palms against palms. Then Delna kissed Enjam’s lips more fondly and the audience let out cheers and vows of fertility.

Glain was still smiling and drumming knuckles when he realized a silent shadow had joined his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Iltarel, looking at him calmly.

“You will come with me, Glain Jarad,” the young man spoke quietly to his ear, and Glain didn’t even think of contradicting him.

“Where are we going?” he eventually asked, as they walked away from the bridge, into the ship’s corridors.

“Somewhere… private,” Iltarel settled on the word choice. “You and I have something to do, and it’s best done while nobody’s around to see or hear…”

Although slightly suspicious, Glain was mostly enthused and tagged along a bit closer.

“Secretive, are you?” he grinned. “It’s good to be here with you. I’m afraid I kept on missing you and Dayar in all that crowd…”

“Yes, I noticed,” Iltarel cut short. “Here,” he hauled the both of them in a supplies room, locking the door behind them. “Remove your clothes,” he ordered and surprise washed over the other’s face.

“What?”

“You heard me. Remove your clothes, Glain Jarad,” the albino reiterated his order in a soft and formal voice, controlled and ...appealing, Glain thought.

He grinned, guessing his luzzur must have figured what he’d been up to with his friends.

“Jealous, are you?”

“Not really, no… But we can’t do that when you’re wearing those robes. It would be improper,” Iltarel kept patient. “Remove your clothes now.”

“How I’ve dreamed of that,” Glain snickered, starting to slowly undress. “Are you sure you’re not going to regret it? What of Dayar?”

“Shut up and just obey,” Iltarel straightened up. “And get going faster; we don’t have all the time in the world, I’m afraid.”

A part of Glain wished this moment wouldn’t have come just when he’d already had sex two times in a row. He was already quite spent, but he obeyed nonetheless, because he wasn’t going to pass on that one, even if it was selfish to the bone. He folded the robes and put them on a shelf, then started to remove his underwear.

Naked, he froze, as Iltarel, who had removed his belt, started to roll it around his knuckles. Glain tensed at once, and his tension increased as he could feel agression rising in his friend’s stance.

“You have been welcomed in the Jarad family, Glain,” Iltarel said slowly and distinctly. “And what do you repay us with already? Dishonor. This is your own uncle’s joining day, the joining day of the only blood relative of yours who cared to keep you as family,” he approached and Glain instinctively moved back. “You shall know, Glain Jarad, that the Jarads are never late. Don’t you ever dare to go indulge in disorderly activities on such an occasion, you shitty, little disorderly cunt molt,” he hissed.

Before Glain had the chance to see it coming, Iltarel had landed a painful blow in his belly. Next came one to his throat, which cut his breath, and knee kicks directed at his groin. He screamed, he gasped, he tried to escape, but Iltarel was stronger and slammed him face first into the wall before whipping his ass with his belt.

“Il- Iltarel!” Glain implored in a hacked and panicked voice.

“You will ask forgiveness!” Iltarel’s voice answered back.

“P-please!” the younger one’s voice cracked but that was the wrong answer, and he was beaten for it.

He gulped and tried to steel himself.

“Don’t do this to me, luzzur!” he implored.

“I have to,” Iltarel beat him again, adamantly. “I love you, Glain, but you’ve betrayed me and my family today. Your family. How could you do this to us?”

“I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not!!” Iltarel rained a series of leather slaps that caused his friend to scream and try and escape again, “If you truly were, you wouldn’t make this about yourself again just now!”

“I apologize! I apologize!” Glain corrected his language, starting to cry.

“What for!?” Iltarel barked.

“For shaming my family!” the culprit threw, but got another slap as to suggest that wasn’t enough, “For disrespecting my uncle and Delna! For having had sex with men! For- for betraying you!” he shrunk against the cold wall, ass feeling like fire on his rear side.

“And for having been late?” Iltarel asked, still hard but softening a bit.

“And- and for having been- late…” Glain hiccuped.

He heard a metallic sound on the ground, and Iltarel’s hand landed softly on his burning rump, caressing where it hurt. His other arm released him and held him instead.

“That’s good…” the albino murmured to his ear. “Promise me you won’t need a repeat lesson.”

“I- I promise,” Glain sniffled, seeking for protection.

“Do not break that promise, Glain… I’d rather not hurt you again,” Iltarel hugged him, enveloping him with strong arms. “This is a militaristic family you have come to…”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so weak and disorderly…!”

“What’s done is done,” the elder reckoned, rubbing warmth in his shoulders and back. “Will you be fine?”

Glain looked at him, green eyes still wet and darkened by emotion, and the moment became awkward, full of something very different. That the trust between them hadn’t been damaged by the roughness touched Iltarel, kindling another warmth within him. It was getting too long, this mutual staring in each other’s eyes, this mutual holding their breath, this mutual holding onto a desire to kiss. They knew far too well what danger laid there.

“I’ll be fine,” Glain finally gulped onto his craving.

“Good…” Iltarel murmured, steeling himself to do the same.

He let go of him at last, only supporting him enough so to make sure he wouldn’t fall while he put his clothes back on. He offered to comb his hair, using his own mus to sleek it back into place, and at last, when Glain looked presentable again, they left the room and returned to the bridge. The younh Archon did look more shy, but he appeared more tame too.

“Go get your friend, you owe me that,” Iltarel muttered and Glain went away to search for Luyeour while himself joined Dayar.

 

Glain found his dear friend first, sharing a table with no other company than a jug of salty snacks.

“Do you want?” Luyeour offered him some.

Glain nodded for answer and picked a stick, then caught his lover by the shoulder to drag him to where they were headed. He tried to explain, but he’d momentarily forgotten to use his mouth for that, so the sentences stayed in his mind. Then he realized that and cleared his voice:

“I have to introduce you to Iltarel,” he said more sternly and bit on the salty stick.

“Oh, he’s your other luzzur, right?” Luyeour made a qualified guess as he followed Glain, “The one who abandoned you and stole your love interest?” he added with some more thoughtfulness.

Glain groaned with delay.

“He didn’t abandon me,” he protested, “and things were never going to work between Dayar and I. Now,  _ where _ are they?” he wondered.

##  * * *

“Musing alone, are you?” Iltarel smiled softly at his shamar once he’d found him, sitting alone at a table.

“Hmm? Oh,” Dayar blinked and looked down at the glass he was still holding, reflexively lifting it to drink a bit, “It’s fine... I was talking with poor Lukat,” he conveyed with a look towards where he and Mira had disappeared to. “So, how did it go? With Glain? Was it fun?”

“Uh,” Iltarel winced a little, taken aback. “I wouldn’t say it was fun; I wish he didn’t give me a reason to scold him to begin with,” he goaned and looked around for some more chairs to add around the table. “My brother got drunk?” he figured with a sorry look at the spilled Kanar on the table – he’d need to get something to wipe that clean.

“More sad than drunk,” Dayar told him in what he hoped was a confiding low voice, “He was thinking of his un-wife and I comforted him. He’ll be fine; his mother came,” he made to take another sip of the glass, but changed his mind: “Maybe you should have this, rather. I think I’ve had too much.”

“Indeed…” Iltarel had a bit of a pained expression, along with mental swearing at his brother. “There, there… Just give me a second so I can tidy up a bit, alright?” he asked, making sure his shamar was well-anchored to his seat before picking the glasses and bottle.

He brought those back to the buffet, picked towels instead, and a few appetizers that he hoped might do good to sponge alcohol a little – not that he had a lot of faith in that stratagem, but it surely couldn’t make things worse, right?

“I’m sorry my brother had to be such a…” he interrupted himself, trying to find the right word as he sat back at the table. But then, Glain and Luyeour came and he opted to start the introductions instead: “Ah, Glain… I’m Iltarel Jarad,” he addressed Luyeour with a watchful gaze, “and this is His Dayar Edar. My shamar,” he specified with possessive tenderness.

“Dayar is Public Records Editor and Translator to the State,” Glain specified in a very soft and tame voice. “Iltarel is a filing Clerk under Magistrate Emnita Nemad of the Engineering Revision Comitee in Lakat. And my friend here,” he addressed the table, “is His Luyeour Ador, medical Secretary in Culat. You already saw him before, but you now get to meet him,” he passed an arm in Leyour’s back and invited him to sit together. “Leyour has the tender kindness to let me share his flat, and his life,” he smiled almost shyly, in a way he hoped was most non-aggressive.

His eyes still bore a bit of sadness, along with a warmer glimmer of joy brought by his  _ wife _ ’s company.

“And  _ you  _ are an Archon now,” observed Dayar with a little bit more delight than was decent. “Those robes do look good on you,” he added as a hindsight, fishing an appetizer from the table to look at it instead.

Luyeour on his behalf, however, looked Iltarel over with a sense of scepsis that Glain’s defense speech hadn’t managed to wash away.

“You are his luzzur,” he observed, then couldn’t help but to grin a little, “so am I.” Why not flaunt it?

“You’re my wife,” Glain chastized him a little, eyes so soft it might rather have been a praize. “But thank you,” he mouthed at Dayar, “you do look good too,” he reckoned, fascinated by the Soukaran’s gentle attitude.

Beside, Iltarel sat a bit stern.

“I’m not just Glain’s luzzur,” he thought to answer to Luyeour, “I’m also his elder, now that he’s joined into my family. And honestly, I’m not sure there’s so much to flaunt about being his luzzur… He’s very disorderly.”

“Yo-you can’t call an Archon disorderly,” Dayar protested, being familiar with these things, “it’d be disorderly,” he added and took another appetizer, stealing a glance at the bottle that Iltarel had put away. Why, it would’ve been nice to share some of that with the other two, now that they’d arrived.

Luyeour looked at Dayar first, then at Iltarel, then at Glain, then at Iltarel again.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever met who isn’t proud to be luzzurs with his luzzur,” he told factually, “why is that?”

“Maybe I’d be more proud if he hadn’t arrived late for the enjoinment rite of his own uncle,” Iltarel gave Glain a scolding look, and the little Archon slipped more toward Dayar to steal an apetizer too.

“I’m not sure I need a repeat scolding yet…” he hummed in a way he hoped was appeasing, then looked at Dayar more sweetly, maybe in hope that being sweet to him would snuff Iltarel’s bad mood a bit. “Let us not hold a shame of a mood on this beautiful day, when we all are so handsomely dressed and fit to share more gentle moments if we allow ourselves to…”

“I’ll go get something to toast for handsomness in,” Dayar phrased awkwardly and nearly didn’t get up, swaying a bit before heading to the table. “Don’t worry,” he slipped to Iltarel in a voice that was supposed to be hushed, “I’ll get water for myself,” he patted his shamar’s shoulder where he knew he liked it.

“I’ll help him,” Glain opted to keep an eye on Dayar and observe the argument with a bit of distance.

 

While headed for the table, Dayar told Glain about Lukat, whom he’d been talking to before Mira took her (very inhebriated) son away and Iltarel arrived – he thought he’d spare the most awkward details, so he mostly kept it at a level where he conveyed that he’d had such a beautiful moment with the man, bonding over their lost loves, and that they’d had a lot of emotions together, and that it had felt good to have emotions together like that. And then he wondered if Glain ever had that too – and at the table of appetizers, Esmil welcomed them with open arms.

“Glain!” he beamed joyfully and pressed a glass of black Kanar to his friend, then one to Dayar, “I take it Leyour recovered from earlier? And who is this handsome little creature?” he asked additionally and looked Dayar over: his gaydar was definitively giving him some vibes there.

Glain gave Esmil a slightly weary look and collected both glasses to give them back to him.

“This isn’t a creature, Esmil, this is Dayar Edar, and he is my luzzur’s shamar,” he marked him as off-limits. “Both he and I will have non-alcoholic drinks,” he added. “Esmil Lekat is a colleague at the Ministry of Justice in Culat – I’m afraid he’s not being very representative just now,” Glain added with an apologetic smile. “Has your young Intern friend left you to pursue other duties or are you having issues to follow him around?” he asked Esmil with slight concern for his no-doubt aching butt.

Esmil’s face went through several emotions, ending in a giddy smile.

“The only issue I have is with the need for being decent – ah, but it’s a pleasure to meet you, Your shamar-of-my-luzzur,” he paid Dayar a nod and leaned against the table.

Dayar couldn’t help but to blink confusedly at the man in front of him. He was really looking very much like someone else, but he couldn’t place it.

“Are you a public figure of some sort?” he assumed foggily, wishing for the first time that he’d ingested a bit less alcohol. Esmil made an appreciative sound at that.

“Very observant,” he appreciated and lifted his glass to Dayar, “incorrect conclusion, of course, but still, very observant. I need to be going,” he added as he spotted ‘his intern’ further away, “Give your luzzurs some kisses from me,” he slipped to Glain as he slid past him, fully intent on getting the Intern giddy enough that they might do it again.

“He really looks a lot like  _ someone _ ,” Dayar complained once the elegant, long-necked man was out of earshot.

“He does,” Glain nodded at that but didn’t give away the answer – he didn’t feel like talking about the Dukat family, or even less so of what a disorderly night he’d partaken in when Esmil had dragged him to that ‘exobiology evening’ at the club, to introduce him to his smarmy uncle.

“You know, Dayar…” he said instead, “even if things haven’t always been going very well between us, I really want you to know that, if you ever need to talk more like you did with Lukat, I’m at your disposal,” he offered again. “I like you more than I say, and in the end, I really want you and Iltarel to be happy,” he brushed a gentle arm around the Editor’s shoulders.

Dayar agreed with a nod, pouring water in a glass with very much effort.

“You – you are very... different,” he tried to convey, “in those robes. It’s not the same. You have to be careful, and you’ll break your luzzur’s heart when you enjoin,” he added seriously and pointed a finger to Glain’s chest, “only sorrow comes from being with an Archon.”

“You would know that…” Glain gently assisted Dayar in the task, stabilizing his arm with care. “I don’t wish to break hearts, but I understand the predicaments… We have time, and time holds the power to heal and mend as much as it can corrupt and ravage. I don’t wish to be arrogant, and I understand that as I stand now, I don’t have the answers. But let us give ourselves time, and if we all stand by each other…” he held his friend with attention, “I think we can save at least what should be,” he smiled with warm sadness. A repenting kind of sadness. “I want to see you and Iltarel happy. That’s what matters, and I know there’s a future in which the two of you would never part. But it’s going to take effort to build that future. I hope I may be of any help.”

“Why?” asked Dayar with a shred of distrust, “Oh, it’s because of Iltarel,” he figured, “you love him,” he placed an accusative and unsteady finger against Glain’s chufa, “you tried to murder yourself despite of it, and then he tried to use that argument to make me think better of you,” he shook his head, “I hope you will not hurt him like that again.”

“I love him, yes,” Glain caught the other’s hand and held it, stroking the fingers with his thumb, “But that doesn’t mean he’s the only one I see. You’re a person, Dayar. You’re valid in your choices and life, and I want you to know that at the core. You’re important,” he squeezed those fingers a little. “Cardassia has lost too many good men and women like us… I regret my acts, and I seek in every woken moment the strength to never think of such ideas again, the strength to go on… And that’s why I think, maybe, we could talk a little more, you and I. You don’t have to walk the darkness alone…”

Dayar opened his mouth to answer something, but his gaze landed on a bottle on the table and went wide in excitement: “Pink Kanar!” he burst in the next second, and kidnapped the bottle, “I think Iltarel would like it – I’ll mix it with some blue for myself...”

“I haven’t had that in such a long time!” Glain agreed and served himself and took a sip – “Delicious. You want to take a pure taste first?” he offered his glass without thinking much about the intimacy of the gesture – they’d both kissed Iltarel, they could share the same glass, that was how it worked, right?

Dayar accepted the glass and took a sip from it, his tongue tingling with delight.

“Oh, it really is the good one,” he fluttered his eyelashes with a sigh, “I don’t, I don’t think Iltarel would judge me too much if I had a glass of that, would he?” He looked at Glain with stars in his eyes, wondering how it hadn’t struck him earlier how elegant the young man was, “You’ve got a stray curl, there,” he mumbled and corrected Glain’s hairline for him.

“Thank you,” Glain smiled hazily, trying not to think too much of how good that gaze looked in Dayar’s eyes. “It’s such a beautiful day… I don’t see harm in indulging a little, especially if that makes you happy. Happiness looks so very good on you…” he hummed. “I’ve never had pink and blue Kanar mixed together…” he added as an invitation for the other to show him in which proportions to mix them.

Dayar hummed and turned to the table.

“The fruity freshness of the pink blends very well with the sweetness of the blue,” he explained and poured a third of the glass with blue, then two thirds of the pink, creating a sweetly purple haze with more stark blue in the bottom, and a darker pink on top. He turned to show Glain, had a little sip and giggled, before reaching him the glass, getting half serious. “You look so good in that robe...”

Glain allowed himself to grin a bit smugly as he took the glass and a sip.

“I think I look good under the robe too,” he exhaled with a dark, flirtatious look, then cracked a laughter a little. “You have such keen eyes, Dayar Edar,” he flattered while studying him, and passed a caressing finger on his temple to adjust a curl of hair too, “There is such beauty in those colorful gems you have for yourself, in the darkness of your skin… You are so rich with wonder, and when you lay with a pale rarity like Iltarel, this must make for another delicious cocktail of contrasting flavours,” he told and took another sip before handing the glass to the other again.

Dayar’s neck darkened at the idea and he laced his fingers over Glain’s as he received the glass back.

“I take it you liked it?” he suggested and looked down at the drink, “It is... so very good,” he mumbled, thinking of Iltarel rather than the alcohol, “You’re in love with him too, in that way, aren’t you? Did the two of you ever...?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“...Had sex?” Glain completed the question. “No, you are his first and only,” he admitted with regret. “I’ve kissed him some times, and there was a time when we nearly… but I didn’t want to be the one to engage then, and he didn’t dare to follow his lust…” he shrugged. “That was before he met you,” he smiled a bit bitterly, then sighed: “Ah… I wish you and I had met under different circumstances. More auspicious ones, devoid of my un-father’s whims to see me enjoined,” he rolled his eyes. “If we’d had time to know each other better, maybe I’d been the one to seduce you,” he teased a little, “although I wouldn’t want to rob neither you nor Iltarel of the joy you are for each other. And there’s no point in indulging too much in what didn’t happen and won’t happen.”

Dayar didn’t answer that. The thoughts and ideas entering his mind were too vivid. It was bittersweet, this moment, and he smiled at Glain at last, looking into his eyes.

“I  _ was _ unfair to you back then. My father had sent so many shallow, self-serving men my way, I had issues to imagine anyone would be any other way,” his shoulders slumped a bit. “Would you have tried, though? Had your father not been pressuring you, I mean. Would you have even been out to find someone?”

“If my father hadn’t been pressuring me… I wouldn’t have tried to court you,” Glain said softly, “but only for as long as I shared your workplace. I’ve made it a personal policy not to start flirting at work. I would have approached you as a friend… And then,” he snorted and looked away, amused and ashamed at himself at the same time, “Yes, once I worked at the Ministry, I would have planned for more romantic meetups and tried to dazzle you,” he admitted, looking back into those beautiful eyes with gentleness. “You’re very attractive, Dayar, even though you can be infuriating. But that mostly speak of my own frustration,” he pinched his lips.

Dayar frowned a little and sipped his Kanar – what to answer to that, he wasn’t sure.

“You’re infuriating too,” he admitted, “but you like how you are, don’t you? So... so... you take yourself for granted,” he pointed at him with the hand holding the glass, nearly splattering him with the drink, “you’re a spoiled little brat.”

“I am,” Glain didn’t deny – “Drink some; it’d be a shame not to,” he suggested in a murmur before continuing – “I’ve been spoiled with both a lot of good things and bad things. You know how it is; things spoil faster when they’ve been beaten and hurt,” he grinned softly. “It’s not a very good place to talk of those things,” he figured. “Do you want to bring that argument some place else?” he offered plainly, clasping his hand around the bottle of pink Kanar.

Dayar nodded vehemently at the first part and downed his glass, pouring some more blue in it and reaching for the pink bottle to remake the mix.

“Where do you want to go?” he wondered, his voice slightly slurred, “Back to the table? Argue in front of Iltarel?” he chuckled, “He’d like to watch that...”

Glain’s attitude was one of positive approval and enticement.

“It’d be a shame to rob him of that enjoyment. Let’s take those bottles and just a few more glasses,” he purred closer to Dayar’s ear as he leaned to grab the bottle of blue since the other now held the pink one.

They rejoined the table, around which Iltarel and Luyeour were still seated. Esmil had joined them, a company that Iltarel seemed to disapprove greatly. Since that left only one free chair, Dayar landed himself in Iltarel’s lap, one arm around his neck and his lips pressed briefly against his cheek before he took another sip of his Kanar – “We’ve been  _ very _ disorderly,” he told him as softly as he could.

Glain grinned at that, settling between Luyeour and Iltarel-with-Dayar-on-top.

“Dayar was telling me that I’m an infuriating spoiled brat,” he told while pouring alcohol in the glasses. “But to the core, I think I’m still that nice person I was born as, and beyond all the sores of life, my sweetness hasn’t at all soured,” he raised his glass.

“No, your sweetness rotted and became alcohol,” Dayar waved his glass at him, then emptied it and waved it again: “More,” he asked and writhed his other arm over Iltarel’s hot neckscale, “I want to drink the bottle dry and clean.”

Glain’s silent chuckle made it into sound and he couldn’t help but grin, because he could see that Iltarel had read Dayar’s words the same way as he had, and the albino was trying to hide his blush behind his shamar.

“Say, Dayar,” the Archon addressed him smarmily, “if my sweetness turned into alcohol, am I the bottle you’d like to drink dry and clean? Careful, I hear alcohol is addictive…” he teased.

Dayar squinted and tried to figure out if that was a trap.

“No,” he said, “you’re the liquid  _ in _ the bottle, it’s not the same thing,” he snuzzled up to Iltarel, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “If Glain was a bottle, what would we even put in him?” he muttered.

“A cork,” muttered Luyeour and he sipped his drink at last.

Esmil started laughing uncontrollably at that, and had to bite the back of his hand to get back to a state in which he could talk. Glain too laughed, and Iltarel hugged Dayar while chuckling against his chest. At that, the Archon pointed at his luzzur:

“ _ You _ know what you’d put in me,” he grinned.

“Yes:  _ decency _ ,” Iltarel snarled although he was still laughing and blushing.

“Good luck with that,” snorted Esmil with a sip of Kanar, “but if you’d like, I could try and put it in him, too. I mean, if we’re more to do it, like a group effort...” Luyeour slammed his glass on the table.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered as he realized his hand had gotten soaked in Kanar, “I’ll be back,” he excused himself and went to find a napkin.

Meanwhile, Dayar stole a kiss from Iltarel and caressed his neckscales with his other hand: “Doesn’t he look awfully good in those robes...?” he suggested of Glain to his shamar’s ear.

Between that whisper and the treatment of his neckscales, Iltarel’s body was prompt to give an answer of his own, pressing against Dayar’s lap. He groaned too and kissed his jaw, trying to remain chaste and in control, but didn’t really success into stringing words together.

“Maybe… we should relocate to somewhere more  _ private _ ,” Glain pinched his lips.

“Good idea,”  Dayar writhed against that hardness that was rising under his ass.

“I know a place,” Esmil shone up and clasped his fingers together, “it’ll be like a repetetive epic,” he told Glain with amusement, “maybe we should tell Sleen.”

“No,” Glain and Iltarel answered to that in a same voice.

“Not Sleen,” Iltarel specified.

“Not Sleen,” Glain repeated and agreed. “He’s a good friend but-”

“-Just no,” Iltarel held Dayar. “And not you either,” he added to Esmil. “I’d rather just be with my shamar,” he hummed at the back of Dayar’s neck, “and Glain can… show the way.”

Glain snorted at that, getting up and caressing his luzzur’s pale hair: “I guess I could,” he shook his head a bit, turning to Luyeour who was returning. “Would you mind greatly if I showed those two a place where they can have a private moment? It might take a little time,” he apologized, speaking softly but heart pounding in his chest in a mixture of thrill and stress.

Luyeour was still busy wiping his hand, and it took him a moment to realize what was going on. Regardless of what he’d answer, he’d regret it, he was quite sure.

“And how,” he answered with a throat that hurt, “is it supposed to be a  _ private moment _ if you’re there?” He crossed his arms over his chest and swallowed hard, “By all means, go if you have to, but don’t make pretty words about it.”

“You’re the pretty word,” Glain hugged him shortly with a nuzzle on his cheek. “See you soon,” he retreated and led the couple out.

 

In the corridors, they walked, with Glain and Dayar hooked to each of Iltarel’s arms.

“Welcome, welcome!” the Archon gestured at the ship around them, “Welcome to where life shines, where pleasure warms your core, and release brings you forward!” he beamed. “No repetitive epic today; I’ll take you to a place for us only,” he grinned, because it wasn’t his first stay aboard a Galor-class, and he knew enough of the innards to find a room with low security clearance.

He took them to a small sort of conference room, with a table and two sofas facing one another – these were the kind of diplomatic upgrades that Enjam had ranted about some years back, and Glain was glad to see that the room was indeed very cozy.

“Welcome,” he said again, dramatic as ever, “and may you enjoy what is to be found in this room presently – ourselves, especially.”

“I already do,” Dayar mumbled into Iltarel’s lips, having claimed them for his own the same second the door had closed, “such a warm, soft, pleasant room,” he clawed at Iltarel’s chest, seeking to undress it.

Glain observed the struggle a bit, licking his lips in appreciation, then opted to help a little, coming in his luzzur’s back to undo his pants. With the three of them at work, it wasn’t long before the pale man stood naked and exposed in his arousal.

“Oh, luzzur… Who put you in such a state?” Glain asked softly, pacing around comfortably in his elegant robes.

“Don’t ask such questions…” Iltarel tried to defend himself.

“Confess,” Glain ordered more starkly.

“The two of you,” his luzzur gulped.

“Good,” the Archon appreciated, coming in Dayar’s back to hold his waist and repeat to his ear again: “Very good…” As he murmured those words, he indulged in caressing his neckscales with his lips and his ass with hungry hands. “Guilty pleasures are the most delicious…”

Dayar turned sidewise towards Glain in the same movement as he slid his hand down Iltarel’s abdomen, greedy fingers closing around his already-slick cock.

“Then you will let me suck you while he fucks me,” he told Glain with equally as soft ease, “and keep those robes on... Archons are amongst my favourite beverages.” Now that was a confession and a half.

Glain flushed in the neck at the bold claim.

“I shall ...if you let me treat you the same way,” he bargained while fumbling to open his pants with a hand, the other one getting a soft hold of Dayar’s hair. “Will you?” he asked in a purr against his lips, teasing him into a kiss.

“And which way is that?” Dayar asked and found his way into Glain’s pants with his other hand, folding his fingers around the wet member within. It was different from Iltarel’s somehow, a bit more slender and squirmier. “Tell me, what do you want to do to me?”

“Why, I want your cunt, sexy little Editor; I want to taste it, lick it, suck it, and wouldn’t that be delicious while he fucks you? So I get to taste you both…” Glain moaned, gasping and glancing at what Dayar was doing to the both of them.

Before he knew, he’d grabbed one of Iltarel’s butt cheek and the albino was licking his neck in return.

Dayar closed the deal with a sloppy kiss to Glain’s lips moaning against them. Everything tasted like purple Kanar and sweet sugar.

“I’d like that,” his voice had gotten ragged already, “very much,” he added with another kiss. “Please help me undress, I don’t have any hands left for this task...”

“Take off his boots,” Iltarel ordered while undoing his shamar’s pants and kissing him more ravenously.

Glain kneeled for that task, and pulled down the pants and underwear too. As he was getting done with that, Iltarel grabbed his sweetheart in his strong arms to hug him fully and feel the warmth of his cunt against his belly.

“Bring him on,” Glain grinned at that, landing himself in one of the couches so that Iltarel might set Dayar over him, knees on either side of him and cunt offered to oral, yet ready to receive his shamar’s cock.

Iltarel was a sweeter lover than Glain had expected somehow, or maybe he’d learned to better please Dayar through the months. Glain on his behalf had taken a few more classes with his comfort woman, and treated the Soukaran with gentle greed, licking him with care and dedication, tasting him with moanful delight. It was especially good to lick just where his two lovers entwined in juicy ecstasy.

Dayar reached one arm back to caress Iltarel’s neck, and the other trailing down to Glain’s hair, which he could only barely reach in the position he was in. Everything felt and looked so good, so warm, and so wet. Whether it was right or orderly didn’t matter.

“Shamar...” he captured the word itself in his lips, moving his hips like a yearning flame. It was too good, and he could feel himself cumming already – he’d likely cum some more later, he knew how it was, but he didn’t hide his pleasure, instead moaning and gasping, shivering and spasming in pleasure under the mutual touches of Glain and Iltarel. It lasted long, and by the time it calmed, he knew it was only because his body was preparing for another. Between the heat, the contractions and the glide, Iltarel too was on the edge, moaning and groaning like a powerful beast.

“Things are getting so wet down here…” Glain exhaled between licks, blowing on Dayar and Iltarel’s cunt and cock entwined.

“And… how’s  _ your _ cock now?” Iltarel grunted the question, like payback time for that time when his friend had teased him into masturbation.

“Someone please suck it or fuck it…!” Glain begged and Iltarel let out a pleasant chuckle.

“Should someone obey the Archon, shamar?” he hummed in Dayar’s neck.

Dayar let out a whimper in response to Iltarel’s voice, eyeing down at Glain with eyes drunk on sex.

“I confess,” he mouthed and moved back a bit, so that he could first envelop the Archon’s lips with his own, sharing a deep kiss that tasted of disorderliness and bliss all at the same time.

Dayar was good at kissing, Glain thought, and he quite greedily drew that moment – a part of him knew this moment might very well be just a once-in-a-lifetime occurence, and he wanted to get the best of it while it lasted.

But then, the sight of those two men he loved was getting to be such a tease for Iltarel, and the albino sent alarmed signals that he might not be able to hold himself much longer, clinging to Dayar’s hips and breathing more raggedly.

Catching the hint, Dayar moved back and let Glain take some distance too, so he could tend to his bold and dripping need. The flavour and slickness was enough and more than he needed to quench his thirst, and he did so without caring about how noisy he was being.

Sounds of pleasure left the Archon, until he relaxed in the haze of the moment, digging his fingers in Dayar’s hair, caressing it and fondling nearby neckscales. Glain’s restful gaze met Iltarel as the albino’s eyes flickered in ecstasy. Spent, he kept going for a while longer, before retreating so he might treat his shamar with is fingers instead, the way Dayar had taught him.

The moment lasted some more, and when a new wave of climax engulfed Dayar, Glain joined him with near-suffering moans. There wasn’t much left for him to shoot, and the orgasm that consumed him was almost painful. But good, still. Iltarel kissed him deep, kissed Dayar too, and Glain looked at the Soukaran with hope of being deserving of another kiss too. Dayar wiped the side of his face with the back of his hand before he served Glain’s sultry lips with a sloppy kiss, tiredly leaning against his neck soon after. Oh, he could nap in this room, just like this. Everything was so warm and soft and he felt spent and good.

“Let’s rest a little,” he decided.

“I’ll set an alarm this time…” Glain agreed fuzzily, searching for his PADD in his robes.

When he found it, Iltarel snatched it: “I’ll do it,” he took over and took a few steps back too. He pressed some buttons and eventuall raised up his arm, also taking a picture of his two favorite men huddled together, and sending a copy to himself before joining them.

Orbiting Cardassia Prime aboard the golden ship was a new family, luzzurs and shamars, restful lovers… After ordeals and strife, they could enjoy tenderness and respite. For the time being, everything was very good and they needn’t think of more than present time. Those who once were lost were found, and if they might lose themselves again, time hadn’t come yet for yet another ...search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations for reaching the end! We hope you enjoyed the story and had a good time reading! Please, don't hesitate to leave a comment, let us know what you liked^^  
> A sequel is planned, with new plot twists and arcs, but it's only just started being written at this moment. Follow us to get to know of any update!  
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

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